Inanimate objects have their needs too.

New trip idea...but not really.

A while back I posted a trip idea for the Trans-Siberian/Manchurian Express. The excursion was inspired by a night with Henry Rollins I had back in 2005 at his spoken word show. Mr. Rollins, being the articulate raconteur that he is, enticed me into possibly doing the same journey. His descriptions of surly babushkas, mystery meat, in climate weather and Genghis khan/nomad-type characters ignited the travel bug that had mysteriously dwindled over the past months. Shortly after, an intense inter web search was on, and I completely tuned out of my job. Not like anyone noticed; master control is sort of lenient like that.

After a not so long search, I came up with some mildly irritating discoveries with all points towards mother Russia:

1. You need to be officially invited in.

2. You have FOUR NIGHTS valid on your transit visa, which allows for one or two nights in Moscow, an overnight train and two or one night(s) in St. Petersburg respectively, but you must be across the border before midnight on the final day of your visa. Basically, you need to be the hell out of there or you can expect a mighty huge fine.

It adds that you're better off booking your trip with a tour company or the like based on the fact that if your ass doesn't speak the Ruskie you might end up in Chechnya. And the tour company will at least procure your visas and arrange everything for you. And to be honest, I'm not all that interested in war zones. Even though I know you pegged me as that kind of gal; I will have to disapoint on this one.

Things I miss about Minneapolis.

1. My family.
2. Autumn
3. My lovely and brilliant friends.
4. Spyhouse
5. Pizza Luce
6. Hard Times
7. South Minneapolis
8. brownstone buildings
9. foxfire...which I know hasn't been around in ages, but I was thinking about it the other day.
10. making movies with friends

There's always more to add, but at this moment I was missing those.

Bye!!

I'm taking off to the Southern hemisphere, hope everyone is well! I will most definitely post some pictures when I get back.


(And the um, space dogs one too)

Space puppies?!

My friend and I are total, ridiculous nerds. We don't deny it. Reveling in nerdery is an activity I partake in daily. Another activity that I make great attempts at is attending as many museums as humanly possible. Her and I are in the process of creating a list of all the Los Angeles area museums that require our presence. One in particular that I found interesting (to say the least) is the Museum of Jurassic Technology.

Mmmm...

She sent me an email mentioning "space dogs", and that we should be a part of the phenomena.

After much slacking, we finally explored this building of intrigue. There will be a post arriving in the next few days documenting Space dogs, Trailer disasters, and some other oddities.

When trekking in Nepal...

Don't forget to bury your turds after you're finished!

Sleeping with Elvis...

booked and well shooked.

I know, I know, I just wanted something to rhyme.

Anyways...

everything we required for the Great South American adventure is booked. Hurray!

There are some minor details to get arranged, but all the main day trips and the like are taken care of. We had to book hostels for visa purposes, which can be quite a headache. But rest assured, they are taken care of.

I apologize for sucking it at posting entries, but with interning and working seven days a week I haven't had much time. Well, I guess I don't know if people even read this, but if you're one of the five that spend a few moments reading, I salute you.

Faithful readers, I will write more to satiate your souls. Or, fill a couple minutes for you before work beckons.

die Freiheit!

He demands his freedom, fresh water, chew sticks, and sunflower seeds.

Preferably in that order.

Thanks.

My arm tastes like burning

I am vaccinated against yellow fever. Friday morning was reserved for appointment; the night prior anxiety was seeping into my chest. I had heard many horror stories about the pain and the burn that the vaccination brings.

Honestly, the amount of anxiety I had was clearly not worth it. (I am not scared of needles, it is purely situational) I dictated what arm to put it in, then he inserted the needle, and a quick 2 seconds later, it was out. He had me sit there for 10 minutes to make sure there wasn't any bad reactions. All was fine.

Over the last decade I have heard horror stories about Yellow Fever shots, mostly that they had the most pain or burning when the vaccine was injected. I was more nervous for that reason alone. Imagine my shock and glee when I was sweating profusely while he was administering the shot and it lasted 2 seconds. Albeit I don't have anything to compare it to; I haven't had a shot in years. The last vaccination I had was in 1999, and that was with a gun.

The best part about it was it ended up being covered by my insurance...yea!

Evo Morales doesn't like Gingos*

Yours truly finally booked her tickets to Peru and Bolivia!!

I will be spending two weeks-ish in the Southern hemisphere; most of that will be in Peru. I am super excited to go to Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca. I will be sure to check the toilets to see if the water goes down the other way. (Oddly, there has been requests)

Admittedly, the high altitude is a little intimidating, but I hear that chewing coca leaves and staying hydrated eases that well. I also have to get a visa, which means that your pal Laurenation is going to be getting a Yellow fever vaccination. She isn't too thrilled about it, but if that means she can go to Bolivia I guess that's ok. (talking about vaccinations apparently results in third person monologue) The unfortunate thing is currently there is a world wide shortage of Yellow fever shots so she isn't exactly inexpensive. One positive is that I will be immunized for ten years; so if that trip to Africa or Brasil is in the horizon that's one less shot.

*This gringo is actually just bitter about spending her pennies on a shot that could be used in Bolivia.

My lil' Sea Monkey

A few weeks past I met up with a friend at a bar near her home. It was the grand re-opening; after having to move from the other location they finally opened their doors. Albeit, another strip mall locale it was more a lounge than the dirty dive bar in my memory. Why a strip mall, I don't know. Southern California boggles me in ways that I am still trying to understand.
Before I stray on tangents, the bartender is the real reason why people come here. Er, at least why I love to go. His name is Stu, and he lives on a boat in a harbor 'cause he loves to "live near the fishies. " He also pours a stiff drink to those who imbibe, and he is a tad bit of a flirt. (That night in particular he was wearing a Popeye shirt- how very appropriate.)
When we arrived, we had some great verbal exchanges, some which include me looking fragile (I attribute that to my scarf, winter coat and wool hat that was adorning my body) and slightly boyish. Always the polite conversationalist, I listen to his ramblings of when he used to chase blond women but back then his hair was jet black. I am side tracked by his beautiful handle-bar moustache, which is beyond perfection. If it were possible, there would be one on my upper lip, complete with fringes that grace my lips.
Eventually, the night came to a close, with us heading out the door. A raspy demand echoed from the bar. I sauntered over to Stu, who methodically leans in to inform me:

"When you go home tonight, you think thoughts of dirty old men, because one fell in love with you tonight. "

Who's comin' with me?!

The neighborhood cat!!!

I'm sure you have heard my rantings about the neighbor's cat that is inclined to leave me presents.


Well, he also enjoys when I let him come in and pretend he's my cat for short periods of time, and generally I am ok with that. He's a good part time cat; I have been calling him Maurice, even though I caught his owner calling him Smuckers.

Smuckers?!


Anyways, she tends to leave him outside for extended hours, and it's normally when she is out and about. I generally find him tomcatting around with the other feral cats, even though I always held a higher opinion of Maurice.

Even though he did maroon his decapitated birds on my door way...


I still think he's pretty okay.

Genius!

Caught this in a parking lot in Simi Valley.

Weather I don't miss...

My mom sent this the other day while I was out savoring the 70 degree afternoon.

The best Selina Kyle to grace the screen?

Adrienne Barbeau voicing Selina Kyle in Batman: The Animated Series .

The buns are watching...

I volunteer a few days a week at the SPCALA where these rabbits reside until someone adopts them.

Saber Tooth cats covered in tar look like Wooly Mammoths

Ever since I have laid eyes on the Rancho La Brea Tar Pits, I knew what I needed to do: volunteer in the lab separating, labeling and possibly cleaning fossils. I first came upon them in 2002, when I first visited Los Angeles to hang out with my sister that lived in her environs. I didn't go in to the Page Museum until 2004; but my eyes widened to a frightening bulge once I noticed what was beyond the garish displays of Ice age alumni: an all-volunteer group cleaning and sorting the fossils that have been collected since 1914. Musing at what would be quite tedious, I kept my speculations tucked in to the tune of maybe being one of the white coated wonders.

Fast forward to 2007:

I took a peek at the volunteer requirements, and I am not sure my desire will be fulfilled. Eight hours a week?! Even though I did read that if you volunteer over 96 hours, you can help excavate Pit 91! It only happens in the summer time for two months, and watching them dig I can't help but feel anxious. I admit to my feverish love of tedious activities; digging around for Pleistocene has beens sounds like an excellent way to spend my afternoons.

Not so Farsi away....

I couldn't resist, even though it's in French...

I bought tickets for a screening of Persepolis that includes a Q&A with Marjane Satrapi and Vincent Paronnaud. I have been a long time fan of the graphic novels, so here's hoping it will be a great interpretation. I caught an interview with Marjane Satrapi that mentioned she had complete creative control. (yea!) Although my one qualm so far is the subtitles. In the previews they are white, blending in a bit too well. It'll make for an interesting experience, that's for certain.

My rabbit doesn't have to wear my mascara anymore

After years of animal rights activists' angry letters, L’Oréal has developed a lab grown skin substitute called Episkin. Discover has an awesome article that I found most delightful and definitely needed to share:


By Anne Casselman

In cosmetic labs, rabbits donning mascara and lipstick are on the way out, while patches of lab-grown skin are in. L’Oréal has developed an uncanny human skin substitute called Episkin that is animal friendly and can determine whether an ingredient will turn toxic in the sun or corrode, penetrate, or irritate human skin.

To make Episkin, a layer of fish collagen is seeded with human skin cells discarded from plastic surgeries. “One hundred cells are able to multiply, and you can get 20 million cells within a week,” says Patricia Pineau, research communications director at L’Oréal. After seven days, voilà! You have a patch of skin that can tan and age under UV light. Last year, Episkin was used to test some 3,000 products.

Episkin is in part a response to the European Union Cosmetics Directive, which calls for a ban on all animal testing by 2013. The skin substitute is also being used to make customized grafts for burn victims and for children who can’t handle exposure to UV light without risking cancer.

Here is a link to cosmetic companies that still do animal testing:

http://www.caringconsumer.com/pdfs/companiesDoTest.pdf

And a whole web page devoted to the ones who do not:

http://www.aavs.org/compassionateshop02.html

Catwoman gets her "powers" from cats

*sigh*

I am trying my best not to allow my emotions to overcome me. But it is a matter that concerns me and every vagina and comic owning person in the free world:

Why is Catwoman portrayed as a lowly shut-in? Until she is either ravaged by cats, or um, well saved by cats? Is that what I want to say?

Let's take a peek at the offenders...Mystical cats that breathe power into the now dead Patience Phillips, after she was chased to her death down some plumbing(?). Apparently these cats have been pursuing her to see if she was worthy of their tuna scented powers. I still think they should have given the gift to a guinea pig. I'm sure it would've been smarter and not given its identity up after the first heist. (Note to future Catwomen: Do not write on objects at the scene of the crime, they can trace that)

Selina Kyle, a wronged secretary who transforms into Catwoman after being thrown from a building. Here our Selina only gains powers after some alley cats eat the fleshy parts of her fingers and whatever else our hungry felines can scour. After this, she is no longer the shy, demure secretary; she's assertive, sexy, and well versed in self defense.

What?!

I don't know about the rest of you, but I really thought the transformation was due to years of sexual abuse/prostitution. She then trained to become the person she is today. The origins always vary, but the story stays the same: Selina Kyle busted her ass and overcame her past life of abuse. And really loves cats.

Which finally brings me to my point. Or question, really. Why does Catwoman have to have something utterly ridiculous to happen to become her character? Can't she just train like the rest of them? Is it that far fetched that a female can be that strong without the aid of mystical cats? I understand that there is never enough time for origin stories, but Spiderman 3 did. And that was for 3 villains. She had her own movie for cryin' out loud. I think I had more fun getting my uterus scraped then watching that movie in its entirety.

So, why does our fearless feline get relegated to some transcendental experience while the boys get solid origin stories? I know not everyone hearts Selina Kyle as much as I do, but she deserves it, and so does every geek watching.

Perhaps someday they will make a Catwoman worthy enough that I can fully support. I just hope Ed Brubaker is behind it.

Liberace gerbils look like joshua trees

last month, my eldest gerbil, Gloria, passed away. She was a fan of chocolate, although knowing it could kill her, still indulged on my Mr. Goodbar she found. Although the Mr. Goodbar wasn't what led to her untimely demise, she did have some tumors.

Anyways, we decided to head on back to land of Elvis to purchase yet another, gerbil. Besides, the Colonel was waiting...


The Mojave hasn't always been the best hostess, but she sure is a sight to see...




The Joshua trees are my personal favorite



More Mountains...




Yup...




We finally reach one of my favorite spots on the way to Vegas; Baker, California. It's the gateway to Death Valley, and pretty much the only spot that has gas and food for quite some time. Baker has the largest thermometer out of alot of people, it's always fun to check how ungodly hot it is out.




And another fav of mine, the Mad Greek! I don't think I took any pictures of the actual building, but I figured this was good enough.




Closer...



Well, fortunately for us, we were not headed to Salt Lake City.



My ears were KILLING me.



Alright! We finally made it inside the state of Nevada! The casinos that welcome you across are pretty nifty.



Once we got into Vegas, we went straight to the place that the Colonel is from: Pet Kingdom USA. This place has kinkajoos, sugar gliders, MONKEYS, lizards and lots of other crazy things that might give you monkeypox.



Unfortunately, all the gerbils looked like Bartelby, so we went over to Petsmart, to find a gerb. (Note: I would've been fine with another grey gerb.) We found a black one, sort of resembled the Lord Gilmore. But she was under a lot of stress, from being alone, and the way that she was handled, we decided to take her under our wing.

Before we left, I knew we had to tend to one more matter:



The Hooka smoke shop? No, the Liberace museum!!



In all her glory...



We didn't get to go in, she was closed...




So welcoming...



After all that excitement, we decided to head back to L.A.



Vegas treated us well, but the new gerb was pumped to get into her new digs and leave her old life of abuse behind.



When we finally got home, that dang cat that I have been suspicious of left me a present:



I guess I should be thankful that someone was thinking of me.

No comment.

Fair and ...

At a work a couple nights ago I came across MTV India. Purely out of intrigue, I watched for a few minutes. Nothing too different; reports on new hip music and a young male named Silky Kumar acting diirrrttyy by slapping his behind. Pretty standard MTV crap, although the english was replaced by Hindi and the clothing was far more conservative. Close to deciding that I had had enough, a glimmer of light skinned Hindu girls chasing after "Mr. Handsome!" struck me that I was in MTV India's grips. Why on earth were these attractive women scrambling to date this awful Michael Jackson look-alike? Well, I was truly hoping that my eyes were being deviantly misinformed while a darker version of the above mentioned was being chastised for not using a certain cream. The girls caught up to him and the product name rolled off their misguided lips:

"Fair and Handsome. Five power fairness system to make skin fair and handsome in 4 weeks."

Whaaa??! I knew India's population was rankled with fair and dark prejudices due to the Caste system and probably other reasons, but really? You want to bleach your skin? It's sad, and really disgusting that there is a product meant for this. Can't we stop the ridiculous idea that fair is superior?

http://www.fairandhandsome.net/

A great web page that discusses the ethics of Fair and Handsome : http://www.sepiamutiny.com/sepia/archives/004677.html

Here is the commercial: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3C9hkCuZv0

R.I.P. Lord Gilmore

Lord Gilmore passed away on Sunday, July 8th. When I awoke her to give her the antibiotics, the stress from riling her institgated a seizure. Seth and I held her down as to prevent more damage, but nothing could be done to save her. Her last few minutes were in our hands, slightly twitching until her tail held no more life. Realizing that she was gone, the dew that had transpired on my cheeks felt more pronounced. Her spiritless body felt topsy-turvy, I held her close to my chest, weeping about her departure. Since moving to L.A, Gilmore has been my confidant, playmate and best friend. We spent countless hours together; I used to joke that she was a reincarnated cat. There were times that she would lay on my leg and l would pet her until she had enough.

But the one that has missed her most was her cagemate, Gloria. They spent 2.5 years of roommate bliss. They groomed, fought and slept together. They would box each other for dominance, even though Gilmore would win while Gloria would have some urine on her behind. They moved out here together and they were very bonded. After her death, Gloria became very depressed and would only come out of her house for necessities, that was all. She was a changed animal, Gloria missed her Gilly.

Lord Gilmore loved her dust baths and rolling in the bath tub on her back. She was 2.5 years old.

Lord Gilmore ain't doing so hot

Well, I suppose you could ignore the last post about the epilepsy. I thought she was having a seizure but unfortunately, it is a lot worse. She has a respiratory infection, which could kill her. She hasn't moved much, and she hardly drinks water if at all. I loaded a syringe with a bit of water to hydrate her, which slightly woke her a bit. I took her to the vet and she wanted to keep her over night. On oxygen. I declined, only because I know that the stay would make her more stressed being without her cage mate. I did think it was sort of odd that they recommended that. As a small animal vet, wouldn't you know at least know that about gerbils? My other vet, knows her shit about a gerbil or two.
Continuing on, they prescribed two different types of antibiotics. I really hope they work because her butt looks pretty bad, almost to the point it could be Tyzzer's. I am hoping against hope that the Lord Gilmore can pull her self through this. She is a strong little gerb, I just hope she lives.

blood tears

Gloria has been having problems with her right eye lately. It has been secreting redish-iron colored goo. We usually clean away the debris, while Gloria protests. We finally broke down and spent the $90 on the vet to get her some eye drops. The vet was fantastic, very knowledgeable and personable with her. Although she doesn't appreciate newcomers and other wierd hands. She's a spoiled little gerb. I'll tell you that much.

Arthur

I left my workspace a couple nights ago to use the ladies room. Wearily, the door scooted open and I was about to take my place upon my throne. To this day I am still shocked and very very appalled at what I saw: A cockroach the size of a mouse was guarding the toilet. Now, ordinarily I would try to squish or scare off the offending insect. Mind you, the size is what brought me to my senses. I saw the wing. That's all I am saying. Would I rather it flying at me in a closed space, or it just minding it's own business? I followed the latter, hoping against all hope that it would not decide to explore my leg. I lucked out.

Before I left for the day I utilized the facilities one more time. Arthur was gone. (I named him Arthur, although I feel that that's what he would've wanted) I prayed for the best, maybe he crawled back into the wall? After all, I did talk to him for a bit, it was the only way I could cope with having something that large sit next to me while I was indisposed.

The next night I came back to work without a thought of Arthur. I figured the cleaning crew had destroyed him. (Perhaps he would be upset to find out that the Dow Jones dropped? He did make mention of his following of the stocks) All the worry cleared away when I saw him in his usual position, except a little further in the shadows. I bid him good evening, and I took my usual place. His Antennae quivered; I crossed my fingers with all the hope in the world that he would not take off. Whew. He remained.

To this day I am not sure what happened to Arthur, but I wish him happy travels and all the garbage in the world.

Hip Hop Material girl Part II

I wonder how many lives were lost prior to reading this sign.
I knew that I had forgotten something. My cat suit always gets left behind.


The rink had an intimadating calm, but I was ready for it. Songs from Top 40 radio came annoyingly present. Finally, my request for Material girl had been answered; my leather boots vanished and Fisher Prices replaced them. 1986 felt so real, even if it were for only four minutes and thirteen seconds.

My lucid reminescing had come to an end, it was time to return to civilian life. I was just glad that I followed the rules and left my tube top and cat suit at home.

My sister was anxious to get her skates off, her dogs were barkin'. Although I will say that the scent my shoes had given the locker sort of had me thinking that we should just abandon our belongings. The price of new shoes was much cheaper than the loss of my third sense. Unfortunately she did not heed my advice. She held her nose and scrambled her things together. We left as changed people, she promised to never share a locker with me again.

14 miles a day

Friday started out like any normal day does. I decided to get a new tire for my car, the old one was finished with standing the test of time. $80 later, my new addition beamed from the pollution incrusted vehicle. Feeling pretty spectacular, I figured I should do the spark plugs as well. I took my platinum (the only thing that makes my car high class) spark plugs with the required tools out to the parking lot. My stepdad and his keen timing called to let me know that I should wait until the engine cooled down. I heeded the advice, only to see Seth's head outside after an hour. I pursued while questioning his travels. He popped the hood of my car, then inspected the emgine. Feeling that the engine was a wee bit warm, I beckoned him to the door. He shrugged me off, then proceeded with the removal. One loud crack later brandished a broken spark plug. A loud crack is common with the changing, but something didn't look right.

A call to the parents assured that notion. We had a broken spark plug on our hands. Things were starting to look pretty ugly. The solution for now after a tireless argument was that I was to ride my bike to work. All 14 miles, round trip. I initially though nothing of this. I actually wanted to start riding to work, but my opportunity came faster than I thought it would.
After one hellish night of riding a bike with one peddle, I awoke the same day with a mission. I hiked up to Kmart, bought a nice Huffy mountain bike. On sale too! Nice! I thought that I would have this ride made; all flat, no real big hills. Nice new bike. Unfortunately, incorrect. The ride to work was no big deal, but the morning bike ride was sure to destroy me. Crying seemed like the only viable solution. Or calling Seth so he could walk to me and carry me home. All things made perfect logical sense. But I trudged on. I made it home, only to feel the tears. I couldn't believe it; I was finally home! My building never looked so good.
A hot bath was ordered, topped off with some epsom salt and gingerbread bubble bath. I emerged, feeling my essence slowing returning. I surrendered to my bedroom escape. Engulfed with blankets, I felt dread slowly creep in. Realizing that I had to make the same trek in 12 hours, I slid my face mask over and made the sandman do my bidding.

The Legal arm of Satan

I felt a presence, one that could convert a protestant. My mind raced, heart slowing down. Kenneth Copeland has struck again. People vote for God, not politics. Make sure "In God We Trust" is plastered on our increasingly worthless currency. This land was founded on God, that's why we're stinking "rich". South America was founded on greed. That's why they're miserable. I couldn't believe when I heard that. Televangelists have all the answers. If only they weren't so misleading. They continue to protest for family values, even when it has become an oxymoron. Devoting your life to an idea rather than analyze life yourself is essential. The world was made in six days, the state of Kentucky would like you to believe. Evolution is blasphemy.

What frustrates me is that people accept this without questioning. How can we evolve when half of our species continues to believe that the world is flat?

hip-hop material girl part I

One place my sister and I refuse to admit has expired in "coolness" is the roller rink. A stop at the classy rink in Glendale a few weekends back invigorated my love of the Lucite wheel. The used and much loved boot felt snug and unapologetic.

He is the keeper of the rules, dress code, and overall machismo.

She was about to make a choice that would affect the rest of her afternoon.

Tequila blood bath dance

Smashed, I dance around on slices of broken ceramics. A pulpy mixture that was once my feet and a bottle of cuervo make their new home on the floor. My toes, newly webbed, decide it’s time. I drew a bath, one that reminded me of a hot day in Minnesota. Humid and pretentious. The knob had a new look that I thought I had seen else where. Ten seconds crawled by and home depot came out of the shadows. They have great faucets there. Refreshment swept over my new modification; and the water felt like home. Splashing around induced an impulse: I swiped the orange soap and slathered it all over my new fins. I contemplated a lesson in scuba but I think snorkeling is way more my cup a tea. Unraveling the day, most fantastical moments come to mind. A great martian once told me, paop yeor paiants. Alet. No idea what it meant, still don’t. It’s a great conversation starter. I am still hoping for the day I tell someone and they respond excitedly back, “that means…!!!!” So far, no dice. Still wondering…

Fandango?

Pus, lots pus. Rice krispies are a bad idea in the mid day, especially followed by voodoo. Leonard and I hit the road for a long day of backpacking and abcessed teeth. Assured by the rotten taste, the pedal eased beneath my pinkie toe. A glance at the map; taffy seemed like a suitable splint. The laffy variety. Only that would do. The jokes was what kept us alive; that was what we would tell all of our friends once we returned safely. It seems like they don’t make tangy taffy anymore, only laffy. The next encounter was a dirty quick stop with a hot little air pump on the side. Leonard stuttered indecencies under his breath. It was between him and Vishnu. Most things were. A once over the candy rack, I spied a tangy and a laffy taffy in close proximity. On closer inspection, the logos that were used appeared to be the same!? I felt a fool, perhaps betrayed even. Textures so close, but those jokes; they proved the difference between Vietnam and Iraq. Leonard came out of a coma due to those smutty tomfooleries. I was not going to allow him to fall back into that same k-hole. After my disgression at the quick stop, we went further away from the land we knew. Feverish conversations followed; a tampon with googly-eyes and an impish mouth was hanging out on the shoulder. Feeling a stare from leonard, I swerved to the side. A worried expression followed, but I continued to leer at the hitchhiking tampon. A rust stain on his upper shoulder told me he was no good.