After reading my brilliant blog, I guess, the spousal unit relented and is willing to permit Bill to open a window over the sink into the living room. Hooray!
I can't believe how much bigger the kitchen looked with the cabinets out. It still looks pretty good with no top cabinets installed yet. My friend Karen and I discussed this and she said that she realized even tiny British kitchens looked large because they did not have upper cabinets. I need the storage space, so that is definitely NOT an option.
We went to the Lamps 'R' Us last night and almost immediately agreed on the new fan for the living room which has lights (the current one does not.) It will go over the area where we have our dining table. Then we spent a hour trying to figure out a solution to the problem with lighting the kitchen.
We didn't have enough head room for hanging lights that would offer diffusion (the high point of the exposed rafters is in the living room and reaches to a 12' or so point.) The track lighting just doesn't light evenly enough and is pretty warm once you get enough units in to light the room. Eventually, we gave up and went on to Lowe's to see what they had to offer.
I decided to look in the kitchen area of the store when inspiration hit near the counter samples: large fluorescent units which can fit between the rafters. So we'll put 2 2' x 4' daylight balanced units in and that gives me skylight without skylights. Len immediately agreed that was genius and when we got home, we chose the two spots for installation. They should also be a lot easier to keep clean than the track lighting has been.
The elves will be very busy today. Bill says he has to get the job finished so he can go on to other work.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
This Old House
My kitchen is the the back yard. And the side yard. And the garage. And the living room. And my office.
After a six-month wait, the handyman finally arrived with my new kitchen cabinets and:
1. I can't have the low to the floor toe-kick drawers because the support wall won't support the unit and now he's got to drill through the cabinets into the slab--no room for low to floor kick drawers.
2. I won't have two pull-out cutting boards because he missed that in the discussions. THAT I know we talked about--even Len remembered it. We will have one large one now, and possibly a smaller one right next to the range in the top of the smaller cabinet that will hold drawers there.
3. Len won't let me have a window over the sink into the living room. I gave up on my hopes to have it open under the upper cabinets into the living room and have a dining counter on the living room side where our ugly, big-but-not-big-enough dining room table sits (which we almost never use because Len's never met a surface he doesn't insist on covering with stuff.) But I did hope he would see reason and logic and let me open up the window over the sink. I HATE standing at the sink looking at a wall. It is so friggin' claustrophobic. I love having a sink that has a window looking outside, but we can't reconfigure the kitchen to do that, at least not without tens of thousands of dollars in plumbing work and a long construction period. Besides, Len would never stand for it. So, I will continue to stare at a wall. In my house in Virginia, I looked out into the front yard and the street. Where I grew up, we looked into the back yard, as did my grandmother's kitchen. This would be so much more cheerful. I guess he doesn't mind because boys look at the wall when they use a urinal. They like the comfort of boundaries. Very limiting. He won't even let us put it in with shutters, so he can close the window if it makes him feel more comfortable. You'd think he'd like to be able to watch TV while he does the dishes (the window would give a clear view through to the televisions, but no. Since Bill has to take down the sheet rock to make way for additional support and to enclose wires, this modification is a no-brainer and would definitely increase the value of the house. No woman would have bought the house we live in because of the way the kitchen is laid out.
The other problem with our kitchen is that it is very dark. It is lit by two track-lights, a small florescent over the sink, and an inefficient sconce in the corner by the old oven (it still works, and isn't that old, but I got my new range with a HUGE oven for Thanksgiving), but if you open one of the upper cabinets there, it blocks the light! So I will get to look at new kitchen lighting and a light for over the dining room area tonight after work. Bill wants to add skylights, but that doesn't add light at night, when I am most likely to be in the kitchen. I'd like a skylight over my bed, but I don't need one in the kitchen. I've heard they are prone to leak, anyway.
With the new cabinets, I'll be able to get my Kitchen-Aid mixer on the counter-top (the old upper cabinets were a tad too low for it to fit.) And I should have enough room for my glassware. If only we could get rid of more coffee cups.
After a six-month wait, the handyman finally arrived with my new kitchen cabinets and:
1. I can't have the low to the floor toe-kick drawers because the support wall won't support the unit and now he's got to drill through the cabinets into the slab--no room for low to floor kick drawers.
2. I won't have two pull-out cutting boards because he missed that in the discussions. THAT I know we talked about--even Len remembered it. We will have one large one now, and possibly a smaller one right next to the range in the top of the smaller cabinet that will hold drawers there.
3. Len won't let me have a window over the sink into the living room. I gave up on my hopes to have it open under the upper cabinets into the living room and have a dining counter on the living room side where our ugly, big-but-not-big-enough dining room table sits (which we almost never use because Len's never met a surface he doesn't insist on covering with stuff.) But I did hope he would see reason and logic and let me open up the window over the sink. I HATE standing at the sink looking at a wall. It is so friggin' claustrophobic. I love having a sink that has a window looking outside, but we can't reconfigure the kitchen to do that, at least not without tens of thousands of dollars in plumbing work and a long construction period. Besides, Len would never stand for it. So, I will continue to stare at a wall. In my house in Virginia, I looked out into the front yard and the street. Where I grew up, we looked into the back yard, as did my grandmother's kitchen. This would be so much more cheerful. I guess he doesn't mind because boys look at the wall when they use a urinal. They like the comfort of boundaries. Very limiting. He won't even let us put it in with shutters, so he can close the window if it makes him feel more comfortable. You'd think he'd like to be able to watch TV while he does the dishes (the window would give a clear view through to the televisions, but no. Since Bill has to take down the sheet rock to make way for additional support and to enclose wires, this modification is a no-brainer and would definitely increase the value of the house. No woman would have bought the house we live in because of the way the kitchen is laid out.
The other problem with our kitchen is that it is very dark. It is lit by two track-lights, a small florescent over the sink, and an inefficient sconce in the corner by the old oven (it still works, and isn't that old, but I got my new range with a HUGE oven for Thanksgiving), but if you open one of the upper cabinets there, it blocks the light! So I will get to look at new kitchen lighting and a light for over the dining room area tonight after work. Bill wants to add skylights, but that doesn't add light at night, when I am most likely to be in the kitchen. I'd like a skylight over my bed, but I don't need one in the kitchen. I've heard they are prone to leak, anyway.
With the new cabinets, I'll be able to get my Kitchen-Aid mixer on the counter-top (the old upper cabinets were a tad too low for it to fit.) And I should have enough room for my glassware. If only we could get rid of more coffee cups.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Musical Chairs
Len and I are subscribers to a series called Reprise! at UCLA. Len's a musicals fanatic whereas it's a form I enjoy, but I'd probably equally enjoy a staged comedy or drama. Reprise! was originally billed as rarely revived musicals in a limited mounting--no costumes, no choreography, done on-book. This is no longer the case with Reprise!, but they've added "Magical Musical Mondays," a one-night stand following an opening weekend of Reprise! where the performance is on-book in an in-concert style. The players dress in black, the chairs are lined up behind music stands where the players can set their binders. The orchestra (when needed) is in the background.
We have front row, slightly off-center seats for Reprise!, a benefit of our long-standing status as subscribers. Since we bought MMM seats for only two performances this year, where we sit varies.
On Friday night we saw "No Strings" with Scott Bakula from the front row. Last night, at MMM, we saw "It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's Superman" from dead center in the second row. We won the lottery on that one, because in the first row with MMM, you can miss seeing the actors because of the podia.
"No Strings" is the only musical Richard Rodgers did alone. That's a good thing. I love Rodgers and Hammerstein's work together--I'm really familiar with all but two of the works listed in the program. And I've enjoyed many of the productions he did with other co-writers, "Two by Two" having a special place in my heart since I did get to see it with Danny Kaye in New York in June, 1971 (very funny performer, said to be an SOB in real life.) The production of "No Strings" was terrific and Bob Mackie did the costumes--which should give you a clue as to how far from the "limited productions" Reprise! has traveled. The performers were all very, very good, particularly Matt Ashford who is more familiar to me from his work in "Days of Our Lives" (Len's addiction, I've never liked the soaps) than as a stage performer. Scott Bakula, of "Quantum Leap" and "Enterprise" fame, has had a stellar career on the stage as well.
Nevertheless, I hated the show. I hated the book. There were only two characters--the Vogue editor and the heiress who stole the show--that I liked. And usually I really have to like spending time with the characters to enjoy the show (have I mentioned how much I hate "Sweeney Todd," one of Len's favorite Sondheim's?) But boy are those Bob Mackie costumes worth the price of admission. On the other hand, you shouldn't leave a musical singing the scenery, as Len likes to put it (a criticism we had of "Lion King," which has memorable songs but a lousy story line. Do you realize the show-stopping "I Just Can't Wait to Be King" means that the kid is wishing for his father to die?) All in all, an evening probably not worth the price of admission.
On the other hand, the Superman musical was a hoot. Len saw the original cast in New York in 1966. He remembered it not fondly, but hey, it's a comic book show. The tone was more 60s Batman slightly campy than the more respectful way the material is treated these days, but it was much better than Len's 40 year memories made it. Much, much better. We had a great time.
When Len saw the original, Jack Cassidy played the egotistical reporter (except for Lois, Clark, and Superman, none of the characters are from the comic book, so there's no continuity to worry about.) Last night, Patrick Cassidy revived his father's part. We've seen Patrick a number of times on the stage in L.A. and he's always good. He was a particularly good Bobby in "Company" and we saw him and his brother Shaun sing two of the princes' songs from "Into the Woods" at an all-Sondheim charity benefit earlier this year. The rest of the cast was equally excellent and there was a very nice posture transformation from Superman to Clark Kent which, with the glasses, makes it quite clear who's portrayed at any point.
The music really sounds like mid-60s American (as opposed to British Invasion.) Len only recalled "You've Got Possibilities" (originally sung by Linda Lavin, I think) as being a break-out, but the rest of the numbers were bouncy and toe-tapping. I just might have to find the CD.
The other fun of Reprise! and MMM is who else is in the audience. On Monday, we saw comedy writer Bruce Vilanch and Shirley Jones (not together), two people we've met on other occasions. Bruce is clean-shaven these days, perhaps a hold-over from his time on Broadway in "Hairspray." Shirley Jones, as always, looked great. Len also said he saw Angie Dickinson. On other evenings we've seen Noelle Neill (Len will be joining her in Metropolis, Illinois next month for a big Superman convention), Jason Alexander, Jayne Meadows, and her now late husband, Steve Allen (yes, we've been attending Reprise! for years.)
The Superman musical definitely made up for "No Strings." We're looking forward to next year's Reprise! season. They've added a show, so now we'll get four instead of three. I'm hoping "Lil' Abner" will be as much fun as Superman was.
We have front row, slightly off-center seats for Reprise!, a benefit of our long-standing status as subscribers. Since we bought MMM seats for only two performances this year, where we sit varies.
On Friday night we saw "No Strings" with Scott Bakula from the front row. Last night, at MMM, we saw "It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's Superman" from dead center in the second row. We won the lottery on that one, because in the first row with MMM, you can miss seeing the actors because of the podia.
"No Strings" is the only musical Richard Rodgers did alone. That's a good thing. I love Rodgers and Hammerstein's work together--I'm really familiar with all but two of the works listed in the program. And I've enjoyed many of the productions he did with other co-writers, "Two by Two" having a special place in my heart since I did get to see it with Danny Kaye in New York in June, 1971 (very funny performer, said to be an SOB in real life.) The production of "No Strings" was terrific and Bob Mackie did the costumes--which should give you a clue as to how far from the "limited productions" Reprise! has traveled. The performers were all very, very good, particularly Matt Ashford who is more familiar to me from his work in "Days of Our Lives" (Len's addiction, I've never liked the soaps) than as a stage performer. Scott Bakula, of "Quantum Leap" and "Enterprise" fame, has had a stellar career on the stage as well.
Nevertheless, I hated the show. I hated the book. There were only two characters--the Vogue editor and the heiress who stole the show--that I liked. And usually I really have to like spending time with the characters to enjoy the show (have I mentioned how much I hate "Sweeney Todd," one of Len's favorite Sondheim's?) But boy are those Bob Mackie costumes worth the price of admission. On the other hand, you shouldn't leave a musical singing the scenery, as Len likes to put it (a criticism we had of "Lion King," which has memorable songs but a lousy story line. Do you realize the show-stopping "I Just Can't Wait to Be King" means that the kid is wishing for his father to die?) All in all, an evening probably not worth the price of admission.
On the other hand, the Superman musical was a hoot. Len saw the original cast in New York in 1966. He remembered it not fondly, but hey, it's a comic book show. The tone was more 60s Batman slightly campy than the more respectful way the material is treated these days, but it was much better than Len's 40 year memories made it. Much, much better. We had a great time.
When Len saw the original, Jack Cassidy played the egotistical reporter (except for Lois, Clark, and Superman, none of the characters are from the comic book, so there's no continuity to worry about.) Last night, Patrick Cassidy revived his father's part. We've seen Patrick a number of times on the stage in L.A. and he's always good. He was a particularly good Bobby in "Company" and we saw him and his brother Shaun sing two of the princes' songs from "Into the Woods" at an all-Sondheim charity benefit earlier this year. The rest of the cast was equally excellent and there was a very nice posture transformation from Superman to Clark Kent which, with the glasses, makes it quite clear who's portrayed at any point.
The music really sounds like mid-60s American (as opposed to British Invasion.) Len only recalled "You've Got Possibilities" (originally sung by Linda Lavin, I think) as being a break-out, but the rest of the numbers were bouncy and toe-tapping. I just might have to find the CD.
The other fun of Reprise! and MMM is who else is in the audience. On Monday, we saw comedy writer Bruce Vilanch and Shirley Jones (not together), two people we've met on other occasions. Bruce is clean-shaven these days, perhaps a hold-over from his time on Broadway in "Hairspray." Shirley Jones, as always, looked great. Len also said he saw Angie Dickinson. On other evenings we've seen Noelle Neill (Len will be joining her in Metropolis, Illinois next month for a big Superman convention), Jason Alexander, Jayne Meadows, and her now late husband, Steve Allen (yes, we've been attending Reprise! for years.)
The Superman musical definitely made up for "No Strings." We're looking forward to next year's Reprise! season. They've added a show, so now we'll get four instead of three. I'm hoping "Lil' Abner" will be as much fun as Superman was.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Passing Time
I can't believe it has been almost three weeks since I last wrote. It isn't that I haven't wanted to, but I'm not able to log on at home on the high speed line and catching time at lunch is hard, especially on the days that I teach, because I don't get lunch on those days.
Plus, I've been busy getting the Arabian Prince moved to his new, less posh, but less stressful, digs. They aren't perfect, but they are in a relatively quiet neighborhood in the north west San Fernando Valley a few miles closer to where we live than the previous place. And the wind is far less intense, meaning I should be able to get on him more often. We did a lounge-line lesson last night and he was just fine. Noisy parrots (there are lots of feral parrots in Los Angeles) and dogs notwithstanding.
The new place has seven horses and three llamas, Whoopi, Queen (for Lahtifa), and Zsa Zsa. Zsa Zsa is cream with peach spots, the other two are brown/black. I think they are a hoot. They move silently and smoothly. They have eyes which look at you with the wisdom of ancient days. Their feet look like the missing link to birds or dinosaurs. Think ostriches with fur and four legs. They make strange chirping noises and when they get angry they hiss and spray spittle at each other. The movement of their ears really makes them look like aliens. I'm not sure how long they will be at the ranch (the Arabian mare who was kept in the same stall was moved last weekend to Atascadero and they are expected to follow,) but I am looking forward to photographing them. I did a series of shots the other day, but the sun was going down.
I've also been very busy planning the first "Creative Voices" program for Pierce College. Our first speaker is Harlan Ellison (who else?) The program is at 8 p.m. on May 22 at the Performing Arts Building, and it is free. We're going to have Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio, who wrote Pirates of the Caribbean, Zorro, and Aladdin, for our next program in the Fall.
Harlan is an amazing public performer.
My husband's been getting nudged by the readers of his blog for falling down on the job. Truth is, he's been out of town working as an expert witness for the past couple of weeks and preparing before that. He's got plenty more visitors than I do anyway. Last Saturday night, at dinner with friends (including the afore-mentioned Terry Rossio), Michael Cassutt told him when to the day he had last posted. I'm impressed that Michael pays that much attention to Len's blog. Michael's one of my favorite writers of prose (I recommend Red Moon), and he's had plenty of television credits as well.
Tuesday evening we had dinner with a couple of friends we haven't seen in about 18 months at a Mexican restaurant called Sol y Luna. Great guacamole and margaritas. It's in our neighborhood and it was jammed--surprising for a weeknight, but then I saw the happy hour sign. It was well past happy hour, but I guess folks just stick around. Parking is a real problem. If not for the walk home, it would make more sense to walk the mile from our house rather than deal with parking. Unfortunately, most of that walk would be on the street. Sidewalks are at a premium in Los Angeles. Pity.
Plus, I've been busy getting the Arabian Prince moved to his new, less posh, but less stressful, digs. They aren't perfect, but they are in a relatively quiet neighborhood in the north west San Fernando Valley a few miles closer to where we live than the previous place. And the wind is far less intense, meaning I should be able to get on him more often. We did a lounge-line lesson last night and he was just fine. Noisy parrots (there are lots of feral parrots in Los Angeles) and dogs notwithstanding.
The new place has seven horses and three llamas, Whoopi, Queen (for Lahtifa), and Zsa Zsa. Zsa Zsa is cream with peach spots, the other two are brown/black. I think they are a hoot. They move silently and smoothly. They have eyes which look at you with the wisdom of ancient days. Their feet look like the missing link to birds or dinosaurs. Think ostriches with fur and four legs. They make strange chirping noises and when they get angry they hiss and spray spittle at each other. The movement of their ears really makes them look like aliens. I'm not sure how long they will be at the ranch (the Arabian mare who was kept in the same stall was moved last weekend to Atascadero and they are expected to follow,) but I am looking forward to photographing them. I did a series of shots the other day, but the sun was going down.
I've also been very busy planning the first "Creative Voices" program for Pierce College. Our first speaker is Harlan Ellison (who else?) The program is at 8 p.m. on May 22 at the Performing Arts Building, and it is free. We're going to have Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio, who wrote Pirates of the Caribbean, Zorro, and Aladdin, for our next program in the Fall.
Harlan is an amazing public performer.
My husband's been getting nudged by the readers of his blog for falling down on the job. Truth is, he's been out of town working as an expert witness for the past couple of weeks and preparing before that. He's got plenty more visitors than I do anyway. Last Saturday night, at dinner with friends (including the afore-mentioned Terry Rossio), Michael Cassutt told him when to the day he had last posted. I'm impressed that Michael pays that much attention to Len's blog. Michael's one of my favorite writers of prose (I recommend Red Moon), and he's had plenty of television credits as well.
Tuesday evening we had dinner with a couple of friends we haven't seen in about 18 months at a Mexican restaurant called Sol y Luna. Great guacamole and margaritas. It's in our neighborhood and it was jammed--surprising for a weeknight, but then I saw the happy hour sign. It was well past happy hour, but I guess folks just stick around. Parking is a real problem. If not for the walk home, it would make more sense to walk the mile from our house rather than deal with parking. Unfortunately, most of that walk would be on the street. Sidewalks are at a premium in Los Angeles. Pity.
Monday, April 23, 2007
Social Whirl
It has been a very busy week. Last Thursday, the WGA Foundation hosted the screening of a new documentary film about writer Harlan Ellison. It is wonderful. I have no idea when it will actually be released to the public (there's some talk of filming Stephen King and a few other people) but there's some terrific footage with Robin Williams and Neil Gaiman. The historic footage, going back to the days when Harlan still had dark hair and a 28" waist, was well worth seeing. I still don't remember whether my first "in the same room" contact with Harlan was 1980 or six years earlier--I've got to check my negatives--but even in 1980 he was wiry and dark-haired. By 1989, when I photographed him for my Portrait Project, his hair was mostly white and he had grown heavier. His personality, however, had changed very little.
We initially stopped by the Hollywood landmark Pink's Hot Dogs, where Harlan was holding court to a group of about 20 people before the screening. His plan to arrive at the screening in his "Silver Ghost," a 1947 Packard, went awry when the machine began spewing smoke on the way down through Coldwater Canyon. His beloved car was towed away on a flat-bed and we became the ride for the rest of the evening. After the screening, the four of us joined Lisa Jane Persky and Andy Zax for dessert at a coffee shop on Beverly Boulevard. By the time we dropped Harlan and Susan off, it was way past their bed-time, and we did not get home until 2 a.m. For me it was a school night, and I did not get enough sleep.
Saturday night, we went over to Mogo's Mongolian Bar-b-q, Harlan's favorite dinner haunt along the Boulevard, to join him for dinner. Harlan had copped out, sending Susan down along with Josh Olsen (Oscar (R) nominated for scripting A History of Violence) to entertain the remainder of the folks who had come in from out of town for the documentary screening.
Sunday, we went for brunch with Steven Gould, author of Jumper, a sometimes banned book which will be released as a feature film next year. Steve was in from Albuquerque for the weekend because of "The Big Read" honoring Ray Bradbury. We picked him up at Union Station (where he had dropped off his rental car and was killing time until the 6:45 train departure home) and went up to Pasadena, which has a nice, community feel on a Sunday. It gave me an opportunity to window-shop at my favorite gift store, the Metropolitan Museum of Art Store. I was saved from buying an interesting watch with a moving gray-scale only because there was not one with an appropriate band length for my skinny wrist (probably the only skinny thing about me.) Steve picked up gifts for his wife and daughters. We also made a pilgrimage to The Container Store for my never-ending quest to bring order to the Wein-Valada mess.
I guess that's enough name-dropping for one post.
We initially stopped by the Hollywood landmark Pink's Hot Dogs, where Harlan was holding court to a group of about 20 people before the screening. His plan to arrive at the screening in his "Silver Ghost," a 1947 Packard, went awry when the machine began spewing smoke on the way down through Coldwater Canyon. His beloved car was towed away on a flat-bed and we became the ride for the rest of the evening. After the screening, the four of us joined Lisa Jane Persky and Andy Zax for dessert at a coffee shop on Beverly Boulevard. By the time we dropped Harlan and Susan off, it was way past their bed-time, and we did not get home until 2 a.m. For me it was a school night, and I did not get enough sleep.
Saturday night, we went over to Mogo's Mongolian Bar-b-q, Harlan's favorite dinner haunt along the Boulevard, to join him for dinner. Harlan had copped out, sending Susan down along with Josh Olsen (Oscar (R) nominated for scripting A History of Violence) to entertain the remainder of the folks who had come in from out of town for the documentary screening.
Sunday, we went for brunch with Steven Gould, author of Jumper, a sometimes banned book which will be released as a feature film next year. Steve was in from Albuquerque for the weekend because of "The Big Read" honoring Ray Bradbury. We picked him up at Union Station (where he had dropped off his rental car and was killing time until the 6:45 train departure home) and went up to Pasadena, which has a nice, community feel on a Sunday. It gave me an opportunity to window-shop at my favorite gift store, the Metropolitan Museum of Art Store. I was saved from buying an interesting watch with a moving gray-scale only because there was not one with an appropriate band length for my skinny wrist (probably the only skinny thing about me.) Steve picked up gifts for his wife and daughters. We also made a pilgrimage to The Container Store for my never-ending quest to bring order to the Wein-Valada mess.
I guess that's enough name-dropping for one post.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Six Degrees--or Less--of Separation
The tragedy Monday at Virginia Tech brings home the point of how close we can find ourselves to an event without realizing the connection.
In the 1990s we fell in love with a television series called "Home Front." It became one of those wonderful series which prompted articles entitled "The Best Television You Aren't Watching." My husband and I have subsequently become friends with the creators, Lynn Latham and husband Bernard L--uh(I can't spell it without looking it up and it's a joke on their screen credit as well.) One scene which has remained with me all those years was of a character saying you should never be more than three (I think it was three) phone calls from the President and, in the episode, put that to work.
At the time, Bill Clinton was president. His Vice-President was Al Gore. His cousin-by-marriage was my son's day-care provider when I lived in Vienna, Virginia. Three phone calls to the Oval Office. I used to belong to a women photographers group that also included Tipper Gore, so in a national emergency--or correct counting of votes in 2000--I might have cut the steps by one.
Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon raises this game to an art form (the University of Virginia, I think, has a computer program to make this even easier to play.) As it happens, My husband has direct contact with people the game only puts him at 2 or 3 degrees of closeness (Harlan Ellison and Hugh Jackman both come to mind.) On days like Monday, it becomes a reality of our shrinking world.
Christoper James Bishop, the professor of German, killed in the gunman's assault on the classrooms at Virginia Tech, is the son of Michael Bishop, an award winning science fiction author. Michael is one of many science fiction professionals I photographed for an on-going personal project and exhibit, beginning back in 1988. And, of course, I was the lawyer for the Science Fiction Writers of America for six years, so our paths would have crossed more than just through the photo session--such as at the Nebula Awards or the World Science Fiction Convention or the World Fantasy Convention. One degree of separation.
My heart goes out to Michael and his wife. In a post I saw earlier today on a list-serve of writers I am on, Michael Bishop let Walter Jon Williams know that a memorial fund would be set up at Virginia Tech in his son's honor. Any contribution, no matter how small, will be appreciated:
In the 1990s we fell in love with a television series called "Home Front." It became one of those wonderful series which prompted articles entitled "The Best Television You Aren't Watching." My husband and I have subsequently become friends with the creators, Lynn Latham and husband Bernard L--uh(I can't spell it without looking it up and it's a joke on their screen credit as well.) One scene which has remained with me all those years was of a character saying you should never be more than three (I think it was three) phone calls from the President and, in the episode, put that to work.
At the time, Bill Clinton was president. His Vice-President was Al Gore. His cousin-by-marriage was my son's day-care provider when I lived in Vienna, Virginia. Three phone calls to the Oval Office. I used to belong to a women photographers group that also included Tipper Gore, so in a national emergency--or correct counting of votes in 2000--I might have cut the steps by one.
Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon raises this game to an art form (the University of Virginia, I think, has a computer program to make this even easier to play.) As it happens, My husband has direct contact with people the game only puts him at 2 or 3 degrees of closeness (Harlan Ellison and Hugh Jackman both come to mind.) On days like Monday, it becomes a reality of our shrinking world.
Christoper James Bishop, the professor of German, killed in the gunman's assault on the classrooms at Virginia Tech, is the son of Michael Bishop, an award winning science fiction author. Michael is one of many science fiction professionals I photographed for an on-going personal project and exhibit, beginning back in 1988. And, of course, I was the lawyer for the Science Fiction Writers of America for six years, so our paths would have crossed more than just through the photo session--such as at the Nebula Awards or the World Science Fiction Convention or the World Fantasy Convention. One degree of separation.
My heart goes out to Michael and his wife. In a post I saw earlier today on a list-serve of writers I am on, Michael Bishop let Walter Jon Williams know that a memorial fund would be set up at Virginia Tech in his son's honor. Any contribution, no matter how small, will be appreciated:
Donations may be made payable to the Virginia Tech
Foundation for the Jamie Bishop Scholarship
(for German Majors):
Virginia Tech Foundation
University Development
902 Prices Fork Road
Blacksburg, VA 24061
Monday, April 9, 2007
Food, Glorious Food
We spent Friday night gaming at the apartment of J. Keith Van Straaten, former host of "Beat the Geeks" and the live, on-stage version of "What's My Line" which ran several seasons at the Acme Theatre on La Brea. J. Keith's been in New York for the past few months and dropped back here for about a week.
I spent time talking with the delightful Tory Davis, whom I had seen at previous J. Keith parties but whose name I did not remember. The topic of food (starting with cheeses) became common ground. Tory's blog, The Way to Eat, was my first stop this morning and you should check it out. Not only does she write nicely about food, she's a pretty good food photographer as well.
Back in the days when I was a full-time photographer in the greater Washington, D.C. area, some of my favorite assignments were food shoots. Not only was there wonderful stuff for visuals, you also usually got to eat afterwards. For the Washington Post, I photographed food classes (once watching someone make a smaller version of the timbale I later saw in "Big Night"), food competitions (the French chefs from the best French restaurants competed against each other for a trip to a cooking competition in Europe--a pre-Iron Chef evening if I ever spent one), and various other food-related events.
I photographed the late, great Jean-Louis Palladin several times, my favorite being the day he wound up in the wrong race at a "taste of Washington" event. He finished last, but he did finish. I never ate at his famous restaurant at the Watergate, but I did get to sample his food that day and at an evening where some of the great chefs of the world gathered in D.C. I don't know what he was like to work for, but he was an absolutely charming individual and recognized me when I would show up to take his picture. (Here is a link to the Jean-Louis Palladin Foundation.)
Many of the food shoots I did were with or for Phyllis C. Richman, then the food critic for the Washington Post. She was fun to work with and my goal is to have as many cookbooks in my collection as she had in her office at the Post. One day, while I was working at the photo department, she came in and said something about The Russian Tea Room. I mentioned that my then husband had proposed to me there. The article she wrote started with something like "Everyone has a story about The Russian Tea Room," and the proposal was mentioned in passing. I accompanied Phyllis to two of the events where I photographed Jean-Louis. I have no idea how Phyllis disguised herself to do reviews since she seemed to know everyone in food in Washington.
In the summer of 1985, after I had stopped freelancing regularly for the Post's photo department, I went off to Italy for a two-week workshop in food photography. The instructor was Aldo Tutino, who had photographed much of the food for the Time-Life cookbook series. Aldo was a native of a city near Naples (Positano, I think), but he and his family lived in Alexandria, Virginia and had purchased a retirement home near a small town called Vernasca in Emilia-Romagna, one of the great food regions of Italy. (Is there any region of Italy which is not a great food region?) Aldo decided to give teaching photography a whirl and I was one of five students to attend his first workshop.
I don't remember much about the other students, except Gail, who was the chief photographer for Marriott Corp. and an acquaintance of mine in the D.C. photo community. She and I traveled to Italy together on the flight from hell--four hours on the tarmac in New York because of storms--and she gave me advice on where to shop for jewelry when I went on to Florence (Quaglia & Forte.) Another photographer was also from the D.C. area and the other two were from greater New York City.
We worked in large format--4 x 5 transparencies--but there were plenty of opportunities to shoot 35 mm as well. For some of the projects we went off to find props at the local marcato and for others, Aldo and his wife provided everything. There is truly nothing so beautiful as the produce at an Italian open-air market. I had never seen peppers of such a variety of hues before in my life (California's farmers markets, though not so large, remind me of the ones I saw in Italy.) The smells of fresh or aged cheeses were intoxicating. It was remarkably easy to create a variety of photos from a trip to the market. One of the photographs that Gail and I designed and shot was later licensed by the Washington Post, so the trip even helped pay for itself.
In 1987, I attended a board of directors and chapter presidents meeting for the American Society of Media Photographers in Santa Barbara. We had a joint dinner with the Advertising Photographers of America's board of directors and chapter presidents. During the course of the meal, one of my fellow board members said that his idea of heaven was to die and go to Italy where you would drive a little and eat a little throughout eternity. I completely agree.
I spent time talking with the delightful Tory Davis, whom I had seen at previous J. Keith parties but whose name I did not remember. The topic of food (starting with cheeses) became common ground. Tory's blog, The Way to Eat, was my first stop this morning and you should check it out. Not only does she write nicely about food, she's a pretty good food photographer as well.
Back in the days when I was a full-time photographer in the greater Washington, D.C. area, some of my favorite assignments were food shoots. Not only was there wonderful stuff for visuals, you also usually got to eat afterwards. For the Washington Post, I photographed food classes (once watching someone make a smaller version of the timbale I later saw in "Big Night"), food competitions (the French chefs from the best French restaurants competed against each other for a trip to a cooking competition in Europe--a pre-Iron Chef evening if I ever spent one), and various other food-related events.
I photographed the late, great Jean-Louis Palladin several times, my favorite being the day he wound up in the wrong race at a "taste of Washington" event. He finished last, but he did finish. I never ate at his famous restaurant at the Watergate, but I did get to sample his food that day and at an evening where some of the great chefs of the world gathered in D.C. I don't know what he was like to work for, but he was an absolutely charming individual and recognized me when I would show up to take his picture. (Here is a link to the Jean-Louis Palladin Foundation.)
Many of the food shoots I did were with or for Phyllis C. Richman, then the food critic for the Washington Post. She was fun to work with and my goal is to have as many cookbooks in my collection as she had in her office at the Post. One day, while I was working at the photo department, she came in and said something about The Russian Tea Room. I mentioned that my then husband had proposed to me there. The article she wrote started with something like "Everyone has a story about The Russian Tea Room," and the proposal was mentioned in passing. I accompanied Phyllis to two of the events where I photographed Jean-Louis. I have no idea how Phyllis disguised herself to do reviews since she seemed to know everyone in food in Washington.
In the summer of 1985, after I had stopped freelancing regularly for the Post's photo department, I went off to Italy for a two-week workshop in food photography. The instructor was Aldo Tutino, who had photographed much of the food for the Time-Life cookbook series. Aldo was a native of a city near Naples (Positano, I think), but he and his family lived in Alexandria, Virginia and had purchased a retirement home near a small town called Vernasca in Emilia-Romagna, one of the great food regions of Italy. (Is there any region of Italy which is not a great food region?) Aldo decided to give teaching photography a whirl and I was one of five students to attend his first workshop.
I don't remember much about the other students, except Gail, who was the chief photographer for Marriott Corp. and an acquaintance of mine in the D.C. photo community. She and I traveled to Italy together on the flight from hell--four hours on the tarmac in New York because of storms--and she gave me advice on where to shop for jewelry when I went on to Florence (Quaglia & Forte.) Another photographer was also from the D.C. area and the other two were from greater New York City.
We worked in large format--4 x 5 transparencies--but there were plenty of opportunities to shoot 35 mm as well. For some of the projects we went off to find props at the local marcato and for others, Aldo and his wife provided everything. There is truly nothing so beautiful as the produce at an Italian open-air market. I had never seen peppers of such a variety of hues before in my life (California's farmers markets, though not so large, remind me of the ones I saw in Italy.) The smells of fresh or aged cheeses were intoxicating. It was remarkably easy to create a variety of photos from a trip to the market. One of the photographs that Gail and I designed and shot was later licensed by the Washington Post, so the trip even helped pay for itself.
In 1987, I attended a board of directors and chapter presidents meeting for the American Society of Media Photographers in Santa Barbara. We had a joint dinner with the Advertising Photographers of America's board of directors and chapter presidents. During the course of the meal, one of my fellow board members said that his idea of heaven was to die and go to Italy where you would drive a little and eat a little throughout eternity. I completely agree.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Ace
The Arabian Prince will be 10 on Friday. He was born at night when a comet was visible in the sky and has a star on his forehead which looks like a swooshing comet (as you can see in the photo of the two of us), hence his registered name of Auspicious Comet. His call name comes from his initials, but Ace is short for a kind of sedative given to horses, which does make for the occasional attempts at poor humor by people who don't like Arabs.
I first saw him when he was a yearling. His mother was in foal to his baby sister (two years younger and born on the same day as Ace) and his older half-brother was still owned by my friend Melinda. Ace's markings are very similar to those of his mother, Flames Sirocco, who was also a flashy chestnut. His sister is a bay, and his half-brother is a gray. (He has many half-siblings by his sire, Padron's Mahogany, a magnificent bay.) Fortunately, Ace did not inherit his mother's temper but did learn from her that he should be the center of attention and he loves to show off for an audience. At a year he had his winning personality. He also loved to be fussed over, which the kids working for lessons at the Family Equestrian Connection have been happy to do.
There's about to be an interruption in that attention, and, unfortunately, it will happen on his birthday. The FEC needs to find another home, and a number of the owners who train with Gayle and Zsu Zsu are making temporary moves until FEC finds its new home. Many are leaving on Friday, and with them go the girls who don't own their own horses. We'll be staying through May, and I'm hopeful that Gayle will find a location where we can be together by May. I'd stay put, except that the owner of the place where Ace is housed has changed her mind about letting outside trainers work on the property and the trainer who remains (and the one we hear is moving in) does hunter/jumpers, so that's not appropriate to my needs. In addition, we hear that the dressage arena will become a second jumping arena, so the footing will not be right for us either. I expect it will be far less convenient to ride when I get done at work.
I'm quite sad about this kind of disruption falling so closely on the heels of the implosion of the equine facilities at Pierce College. It only shows how wasteful it is for those facilities to remain empty when there is a real need in this part of the valley for horse boarding.
I first saw him when he was a yearling. His mother was in foal to his baby sister (two years younger and born on the same day as Ace) and his older half-brother was still owned by my friend Melinda. Ace's markings are very similar to those of his mother, Flames Sirocco, who was also a flashy chestnut. His sister is a bay, and his half-brother is a gray. (He has many half-siblings by his sire, Padron's Mahogany, a magnificent bay.) Fortunately, Ace did not inherit his mother's temper but did learn from her that he should be the center of attention and he loves to show off for an audience. At a year he had his winning personality. He also loved to be fussed over, which the kids working for lessons at the Family Equestrian Connection have been happy to do.
There's about to be an interruption in that attention, and, unfortunately, it will happen on his birthday. The FEC needs to find another home, and a number of the owners who train with Gayle and Zsu Zsu are making temporary moves until FEC finds its new home. Many are leaving on Friday, and with them go the girls who don't own their own horses. We'll be staying through May, and I'm hopeful that Gayle will find a location where we can be together by May. I'd stay put, except that the owner of the place where Ace is housed has changed her mind about letting outside trainers work on the property and the trainer who remains (and the one we hear is moving in) does hunter/jumpers, so that's not appropriate to my needs. In addition, we hear that the dressage arena will become a second jumping arena, so the footing will not be right for us either. I expect it will be far less convenient to ride when I get done at work.
I'm quite sad about this kind of disruption falling so closely on the heels of the implosion of the equine facilities at Pierce College. It only shows how wasteful it is for those facilities to remain empty when there is a real need in this part of the valley for horse boarding.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Tempus Fugit--Dammit
The month has sped along, helped by the time I need to spend in preparation for the photography class I'm teaching at Pierce College this semester. Since it is a hybrid dealing with both film and digital cameras, I've got all new lectures to prepare so all of the students are covered.
In my less than copious spare time, we've managed to catch an actual movie at an actual movie theatre: "Music and Lyrics. " Drew Barrymore has truly captured the market in romantic comedies. This one is delightful, as have been "Never Been Kissed, " "The Wedding Singer," and "Ever After." If you haven't seen them, pop some corn and settle in. Fortunately, my husband loves these films, but you may have to do it as a chick-flick night.
We also had a terrific meal with our friends Andy Zax and Lisa Jane Persky last week at an Italian restaurant called Risotto in Studio City. While we were eating, Len identified James Van Der Beek walking into the restaurant. I had know idea who he was, but I'm told he was Dawson of "Dawson's Creek." Nice looking kid, but not on my radar. Len can identify old radio stars at the grocery store--it's one of his super powers--so identifying a television actor is quite easy for him.
I'm much less likely to notice folks I haven't photographed at some point, but I did identify David Spade one morning at a breakfast place, and my boss (with whom I was eating) was quite impressed. In Los Angeles, it's common to run into actors all over the place. Usually, we don't speak or otherwise bother them. We met Andy because we both recognized him from "Beat the Geeks" (he was the music geek) as we were leaving a restaurant, and a friend who was with us spoke to him and made introductions. Turned out that Andy was a huge fan of Len's work and thus are great friendships begun. When Andy started dating Lisa Jane, we were pleased to let her know that we were both fans of her film and television work. There's a link to her web page on the right,
Time to head out to dinner with Melinda Snodgrass, my good friend who bred my Arabian Prince and wrote the noted Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Measure of a Man." We're heading to Tarzana to Fabrocini's, a terrific local Italian eatery. Comfort food for a chilly and damp Los Angeles evening.
In my less than copious spare time, we've managed to catch an actual movie at an actual movie theatre: "Music and Lyrics. " Drew Barrymore has truly captured the market in romantic comedies. This one is delightful, as have been "Never Been Kissed, " "The Wedding Singer," and "Ever After." If you haven't seen them, pop some corn and settle in. Fortunately, my husband loves these films, but you may have to do it as a chick-flick night.
We also had a terrific meal with our friends Andy Zax and Lisa Jane Persky last week at an Italian restaurant called Risotto in Studio City. While we were eating, Len identified James Van Der Beek walking into the restaurant. I had know idea who he was, but I'm told he was Dawson of "Dawson's Creek." Nice looking kid, but not on my radar. Len can identify old radio stars at the grocery store--it's one of his super powers--so identifying a television actor is quite easy for him.
I'm much less likely to notice folks I haven't photographed at some point, but I did identify David Spade one morning at a breakfast place, and my boss (with whom I was eating) was quite impressed. In Los Angeles, it's common to run into actors all over the place. Usually, we don't speak or otherwise bother them. We met Andy because we both recognized him from "Beat the Geeks" (he was the music geek) as we were leaving a restaurant, and a friend who was with us spoke to him and made introductions. Turned out that Andy was a huge fan of Len's work and thus are great friendships begun. When Andy started dating Lisa Jane, we were pleased to let her know that we were both fans of her film and television work. There's a link to her web page on the right,
Time to head out to dinner with Melinda Snodgrass, my good friend who bred my Arabian Prince and wrote the noted Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "Measure of a Man." We're heading to Tarzana to Fabrocini's, a terrific local Italian eatery. Comfort food for a chilly and damp Los Angeles evening.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Independent Seat
I'm working on developing what is known in riding as an "independent seat." Simply put, it means you stay on the horse without holding on with hands or legs (sort of.) There's an anchoring with the pelvic bones that I am absolutely sure is easier to learn at the age of 7, when there is no fear, than in the much later decade I'm now living. As my instructor gives me the combination of movements, I cannot help but say "yeah, right." Nevertheless, I have progressed from no-handed walk on the horse on the lounge line to no-handed sitting trot, with my arms in the crucified Jesus extension.
There was a time when I thought I would throw up just sitting in the saddle. There was no way I could let go of anything that high in the air. Fear of heights, fear of speed. I no longer feel like I'm stories above the ground when I'm riding my horse, but I've still got issues with speed. I could be wrong, but I think part of yesterday's lesson was laying the groundwork for the canter, the gate which scares me to death. It scares me even though I've cued and ridden the canter a number of times. It's the lack of control over speed and direction, and I've actually experienced both. "What if he spooks?" is the often unspoken but always understood monster behind the door.
All horses spook. If they didn't, they would have been eaten eons ago. Spookiness is a survival trait. I've worked long and hard at developing the Arabian Prince's mellowness, but he has his moments. Othertimes, we watch the world being crazy and he just sighs. I'm very proud of him on those days because it gives the lie to people who think Arabians have scrambled eggs for brains. Julie Goodnight says "the average Arabian is smarter than the average cowboy" which is why cowboys won't own them. I've met plenty of people who aren't as smart as my Arabian is. He knows enough to stay out of the rain, for example. He knows enough to keep a clean area where he eats and sleeps (putting him a few steps ahead of my son.)
The independent seat is hard work. I got home after my lesson last night absolutely exhausted. Tomorrow, I'll probably identify a bunch of muscles I didn't know existed. I've always thought that sailing is too much work to be fun. Even if riding is a lot of work, I've got the pleasure of a horse who talks to me when I drive up to his stall and who lets me know if he thinks I'm paying too much attention to another horse.
Yesterday, for example, I rode a school horse for my lesson. Nicholas is extremely dependable on a lounge line, and knowing he is that trustworthy gives me the confidence to let go of everything and ride no-handed and with my feet out of the stirrups for some things. Ace was turned out while I was tacking Nicholas. He worked himself into an absolute lather, running back and forth and around the turnout. When I went to put him back in his stall, he was dripping wet, and that dried to a nice salty crust. It was too late to bathe him, but I did manage to brush most of it out. That was all because he was not happy that I was stepping out on him.
I realize that's a bit of projection, but the only people who don't think animals have emotions are the people who don't own and observe animals on a regular basis. That goes for people who don't think animals understand words. If I say "out" and I'm in the bedroom, my dogs head for the door to the yard and wait. If I say "snack," they immediately head to the living room and look at the treat bag. If we think a horse can understand "whoa," why wouldn't they understand "walk," "trot," "canter," "foot," "carrot," or "cookie?"
The Arabian Prince is about to get some schooling from an experienced rider. It's been quite a while since that's happened on a regular basis. Should be fun to see what happens when a rider with an independent seat actually takes a turn on his back.
There was a time when I thought I would throw up just sitting in the saddle. There was no way I could let go of anything that high in the air. Fear of heights, fear of speed. I no longer feel like I'm stories above the ground when I'm riding my horse, but I've still got issues with speed. I could be wrong, but I think part of yesterday's lesson was laying the groundwork for the canter, the gate which scares me to death. It scares me even though I've cued and ridden the canter a number of times. It's the lack of control over speed and direction, and I've actually experienced both. "What if he spooks?" is the often unspoken but always understood monster behind the door.
All horses spook. If they didn't, they would have been eaten eons ago. Spookiness is a survival trait. I've worked long and hard at developing the Arabian Prince's mellowness, but he has his moments. Othertimes, we watch the world being crazy and he just sighs. I'm very proud of him on those days because it gives the lie to people who think Arabians have scrambled eggs for brains. Julie Goodnight says "the average Arabian is smarter than the average cowboy" which is why cowboys won't own them. I've met plenty of people who aren't as smart as my Arabian is. He knows enough to stay out of the rain, for example. He knows enough to keep a clean area where he eats and sleeps (putting him a few steps ahead of my son.)
The independent seat is hard work. I got home after my lesson last night absolutely exhausted. Tomorrow, I'll probably identify a bunch of muscles I didn't know existed. I've always thought that sailing is too much work to be fun. Even if riding is a lot of work, I've got the pleasure of a horse who talks to me when I drive up to his stall and who lets me know if he thinks I'm paying too much attention to another horse.
Yesterday, for example, I rode a school horse for my lesson. Nicholas is extremely dependable on a lounge line, and knowing he is that trustworthy gives me the confidence to let go of everything and ride no-handed and with my feet out of the stirrups for some things. Ace was turned out while I was tacking Nicholas. He worked himself into an absolute lather, running back and forth and around the turnout. When I went to put him back in his stall, he was dripping wet, and that dried to a nice salty crust. It was too late to bathe him, but I did manage to brush most of it out. That was all because he was not happy that I was stepping out on him.
I realize that's a bit of projection, but the only people who don't think animals have emotions are the people who don't own and observe animals on a regular basis. That goes for people who don't think animals understand words. If I say "out" and I'm in the bedroom, my dogs head for the door to the yard and wait. If I say "snack," they immediately head to the living room and look at the treat bag. If we think a horse can understand "whoa," why wouldn't they understand "walk," "trot," "canter," "foot," "carrot," or "cookie?"
The Arabian Prince is about to get some schooling from an experienced rider. It's been quite a while since that's happened on a regular basis. Should be fun to see what happens when a rider with an independent seat actually takes a turn on his back.
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