Monthly Archives: January 2001

I just got a very excited note from a Paul fan. She just received a reply to her fan letter. Not a generic one, but a very specific, personal one, and an autographed photo to boot. Before I did my page, there wasn't a current address for Paul anywhere. Fan letters went to the ether. So now I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes because this fan was so happy, so excited, and it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't done the page and received a good address from Paul.

Goddamn, this is what it's about.

Waiting for one big thing to copy somewhere...what an opportune moment to BLOG.

I've actually had a few Dear Frykitty letters lately. They've been serious ones. I'm too damned lazy to update the page, so I've been answering them privately and casually, without my usual cynical bite. Someday I'll post them. After all, if they wrote me, they must want the world to know, right? Sigh. I'd get so much more accomplished if only I could do two things: 1) Get organized; 2) Sleep. The first one I'm actually pretty good at when I put my mind to it. The second is beyond me.

Yes, yes, I'm okay. I just needed to sleep on it. About the vacation--the good stuff:

  • The Long Beach Aquarium. Definitely go there if you can--it's wonderful.
  • The Ghosts and Legends Tour on the Queen Mary.
  • Venice Beach

The bad stuff:

  • Staying on the Queen Mary. Nasty--don't ever do it.
  • LA County Museum of Contemporary Art when they wipe out their permanent collection for a special exhibit.
  • LaBrea Tar Pits (yawn).

We did a lot more than that, but most of it fell on the neutral end of the scale. What really ruined my vacation was not the awful room and service on the Queen Mary, or the little disappointments. It was going with people that vacation in a considerably different way than I do--charging ahead and never slowing down. My feet were destroyed in the first day, and colored everything thereafter. Also, the people I went with were fine to spend a couple hours with. That's all. After days of them, I was ready to start shooting.

Bottom line: I'm looking for new travel companions. You must be gainfully employed, easy-going, and a kid at heart.

Oh, and the hurt feelings thing...turns out it was probably a misunderstanding. Not on my part, mind you. I thought Paul had hired another designer to do a site for him. The other designer certainly thinks he has. I checked with Paul, and he has no idea what's going on. Could be interesting.

So I wandered off to wrap my head around it.

I went into the bathroom and closed the door to prepare for a cat-free bath, when I stopped cold. Dammit! That's what I always do. Escape to "think about it." Run off to some impotent fantasy about what I want to be instead of going out and becoming it. Ruminating about what I want to do instead of doing it. Screw that. No bath for me.

I changed shoes and grabbed some things I needed from the bedroom, then I stomped out into the night. About a half-mile north I found what I needed. A business complex had installed a nice little perk for their employees--about fifty yards of boardwalk right on the river, lined with a waist-high railing, dotted with attractive benches.

I paced that boardwalk three times, terrified. I went through a half-dozen dire scenarios, from losing my glasses in the river to getting caught by a security guard. It all came down to one thing: I knew if I didn't do what I'd come here to do, I would hate myself forever. Resolved, I sat down on one of those attractive benches and strapped on my skates.

I've had the skates for two summers. I tried to use them once or twice, but couldn't overcome my fear of falling. It's such a long way to fall. I used to ice skate years ago. I was fearless. I was into speed--careening between other skaters, falling, laughing, sliding twenty feet on my chin. I don't know what happened between then and now. Maybe I went too many years without a good bruise. Maybe I just got complacent. Thirty-something hit, and fear had stealthily taken over. I hated myself for that fear.

So I bought rollerblades, thinking I'd get right on them and everything would be good. I chose a low-traffic park with a smooth path and little to hold on to. Not a great idea in retrospect. I didn't fall, but I didn't get far either. Into the closet with the skates.

Tonight was different. I'd had enough of being afraid. I thought maybe I'd even throw myself to the ground, just to prove I could fall. I didn't do that. I did skate. I even learned to turn a little, though the brakes still have me baffled. That waist-high railing was key. It's like the wall of the skating-rink that you cling to the first 20 minutes on ice. I skated until my shins were on fire (if you've ever done blades, you know what I mean). I skated more tonight than I have since I bought the blades.

As for the railing...eventually, I let go. Tomorrow night, maybe I'll fall.

Got my review today. Very satisfactory. A new, non-demeaning title, a promotion, a huge effing raise. I should be floating, right?

So here I am, sitting at home, and all I can think of is I'm not the person I want to be. I have more success than anyone in my family. I have a really decent life. I live in a wonderful new apartment in a snooty complex, I have great friends, I do work that I (mostly) enjoy, I have fun hobbies. But I'm not the person I want to be. All I can say to that is:

WHAT THE FUCK DO I WANT AND HOW MUCH OF IT WILL IT TAKE TO MAKE ME HAPPY??

I mean, jeezus! My life is full of great shit. Great. How can I have the gall to be dissatisfied?? 'Scuse me...I gotta wander off somewhere and try to wrap my head around this.