The Next Episode, and I love Back To The Future.

Stay tuned, everybody!  Am working on the new website so will keep you aprised of when it's up and running.   Will be documenting my travels and such on the new site.  Also another side project will be in the works so will fill you in on that as well.

Source: IMDB

Back to the Future.
Before leaving Los Angeles, I caught an anniversary screening with a couple friends of the classic, the original, Back to the Future by Steven Spielberg.

Yes - it was even more glorious than how I remember it.

Look at those jeans!  Those Nikes!  The 4x4!  How much of a lost cause was George McFly?  Man.  But within the midst of those tapered jeans and the quips of "Great Scott!", I remembered something.  Hit me like a ton of - no, wait - hit me like a punch in the face.  ('Hit me like a ton of bricks' is getting trite, I know.)

(Future Husband, take note!)

I love movies.  I love TV.  Really.  When I was young, I wanted to BE in the movie, and meet Marty McFly, and help him on his journey to help George end up with Lorraine.  I wanted to meet Eric Matthews and hear him yell 'Feeny!' in that distressed yet lovably, enthusiastic way.  I wanted to live in Capeside with Dawson and Joey, next door to the Winslows and run into Steve Urkel, become best friends with the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, watch Patrick Swayze cut it 'a la Dirty Dancing, and make out with Leo DiCaprio's Romeo in a pool.  Or elevator. (Baz Luhrmann's version).

Conversations With My Mother.

My mother, looking at my hair once again.
Mom: You need to cut your hair.
Me: (Silent.  I roll my eyes.)


Cruising the aisles of ShopRite.
Mom: Should we get Regular or French Vanilla?  Hazelnut?
Me: What do you usually get?
Mom: French Vanilla.
Me: Oh.  Did you want to try something new?
Mom: Yeah. But -
Me: What?
Mom: It's risky.
Me: (Sigh.)
Do you have to have Coffeemate creamer?
Mom: Oh yeah.
Me: I usually just buy half-and-half - store brand is fine.
Mom: Oh no - I have to have Coffeemate.
Me: Ok.

While I organize and unpack my boxes of clothes
Mom: You need to stop dressing like you did in high school. And you're not in college.  You're not in your early 20s anymore.
Me: (silently, in my head) Thanks, Omma. Really. Thank. You.

While debating which scarf to bring to Prague
Mom: Why don't you start dressing more ladylike? So you can get married.
Me: Ugggghhh. Yep. Because that's the ONLY thing I've been doing intentionally, the only roadblock to marriage: dressing more ladylike.  Ladies' Home Journal circa 1955, are you listening?

Someone stole my shoes.

No, really. Someone jacked my shoes. Someone from the US Postal Service is rockin' my jewel blue patent leather stilettos. And sky blue strappy sandals with buckle hardware detailing.


Really? Almost, but not nearly as bad as the Really? reaction I had when a guy's best delivered line to me was, "Do you know what Mamacita means?

Seriously.  That's what he said.  (Scene of the crime was The Mayan in downtown Los Angeles, in case you were wondering.)

Who would steal used shoes? And one shoe from each pair, at that?  (Now that's what I'd call a heinous crime - going through another person's mail and stealing one shoe from each pair - other people's pettiness will never cease to amaze me.) Will put the pictures up. As soon as I find the camera charger from one of these boxes.

Mental note: call US Postal Service on Monday.

There were almost twenty boxes I had shipped to my parents' house from LA. I opened most of them already and have been busy with all the organizing and sorting. Picture frames didn't fare so well. Dunkin' Donuts ground coffee made it without a hitch, though.

The mess of boxes? The biggest ones have been opened, emptied, sorted, and recycled. I think I have maybe 5 or 6 boxes left to organize.

I've been busy making To Do lists. And yes - there's still plenty left on the list. I could resort to feral anxiety at all the work cut out for me, but instead, a strange nonchalance at doing things in a pragmatic way has surfaced via those checklists. (Wondering if the nonchalance was bred from the LA lifestyle I just left.)

Weather, and I'm moving to Prague.

Tomorrow's high is 53 degrees Fahrenheit, with a low of 34. LA? 66/56. Prague? 45/35. I suppose laying low in Philly is a good warm-up to Prague. (Irony, I know. I kill myself sometimes.)

People keep telling me about how much more extreme the cold will be in Europe. Oh yeah - I'm moving to Prague - not sure if I told you this already. (Don't worry, folks in my personal and professional life ended up hearing about it the same way. I was going to tell you - are you sitting down? Hey, babe - I need to tell you something. I'm moving to Prague.)

Back to the weather - yes, I know it will be even colder than Philly. Yes, I know - my body is now used to the sunnier and warmer days of mild-and-virtually-no-weather-and-no-distinct-seasons Los Angeles. Believe me, I know. Waking up the day after flying back East and piling on the sweaters. Walking around the streets today during the evening in my new goose down coat (I'll put a picture of this up, too - who says travelers have to sacrifice fashion for function?) I became all the more aware.

This whole time I've shrugged it off - yes, duh, it will be cold. Yes, I've been living in Los Angeles for years. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll be wearing a lot more layers. I usually just tease people for complaining about any of the mildly chilly sweater weather that SoCal experiences. I gently deride the wimpiness of their stamina.

The temps in the city of brotherly love feel frigid to me - but I know this isn't even the tip of the iceberg (Oh, irony! I must be on a roll) - it's only early November, after all.

I'm actually concerned.

It's disconcerting.

Oh yeah - will be putting up a new website for my Prague travels - will keep you posted once it's up and running.

Counting Down, Talk is Cheap. Mini COTW note.

Count one.

Count not one, two, or even three, but four pillow creases slashed across my face on a particularly chilly grey morning in Los Angeles.  Yep.  Good morning, Beautiful!  Exactly what I was thinking.

One of my co-workers walks over to me with an empty box.  I have a somatic reaction to it - if you blinked, you may have missed it.

Fast forward to today; the hallway and parlour room of my parents' house are now filled with some dozen and some change boxes.  Thus far, I have unpacked the four suitcases that I have checked onto my flight.  Winter's entrance is in the air; the temperatures are chilly and I have already pulled out a few heavy sweaters; I'm not in Los Angeles anymore.

Talk is cheap.
I'm not talking about it anymore - about the things I want to do, experience.  Talk is cheap.  Talk.  Talk about getting into shape.  Hanging out.  Reading your screenplay.  Asking out your crush.  Being more punctual.  I absolutely abhor flakiness and wish I could admonish everyone who expresses a wish to be characterized otherwise.

Some people ask me why I'm leaving LA - as if my journey these past few years have been gravy.  Yep, Los Angeles, land of milk and honey, why would anyone want to leave?  Remember when, in My Big Fat Greek Wedding, when Toula's father expresses his thoughts on Toula no longer working at the restaurant and starting to go to school? 

"Why you want to leeeeeave me?"  

I get that vibe when people ask me why I'm leaving LA.  If I had a bad break up.  Others ask if I'll miss particular dining establishments - in truth, that's all replaceable.  I can always discover my new favorite coffeehouse or tapas joint.  To reiterate, I haven't been living the sweet milk-and-honey life that, for some reason, people seem to believe.  It's time to move on.  And life hasn't been completely smooth this whole stint out West - this is where the aforementioned flakiness has factored in - I've learned a great deal about people, and how much more important a person's character is to me.  People can, if you're lucky, be genuine, lighthearted, thoughtful, sensitive, and considerate.  They can be good listeners, dependable, and good friends.  Again, that's if you're lucky. People can also forget things.  People can do things that are disappointing and selfish and demanding and manipulative and insecure.  But I believe that, on the whole, they are well-intentioned.  They just have fears and flaws, like everybody else.

Life moves apace.  I have long been that kid that obeys all the rules, plays it safe. 

Now I'm the one that loves to surprise people.  Including myself.

COTW [crush-of-the-week]

Less talk. More action.