The Road to Bolinas

They say the road to Bolinas is paved with good intentions.  This is probably because you will need them in order to locate this quirky little town that's tucked away among the outskirts of Marin County where all the directional road signs have gone missing.

While in search of buried treasure, (and by treasure, I mean seashells), what started out as a last minute day trip that one fateful Sunday afternoon, became more of a real life treasure hunt.    I really would need a secret map if I was to ever find the elusive "Bolinas Lagoon" that was listed as #10 in the "Top 10 Places to Beachcomb in the Nation", according to some article I found online that dated back to 2007.

After a failed attempt at sea-shelling on the south side of Stinson Beach out "by the rocks" (where  I heard was also a good spot for finding shells),  I packed up my water bottle and flip flops orthopedic sandals and headed north on highway 1 to the town of Bolinas.

Well, the Yelp reviews online made it sound like Bolinas was part of Stinson Beach and I almost thought I could walk there from the south end, from all the reviews I read.  But something inside me told me that I needed to get into my car.

I drove out of the beach parking lot and onto highway 1 for a few minutes and saw no road signs to Bolinas, but only for the town of Olema, which I knew was too far.  I pulled over on the side of the road and punched in "Bolinas" on the GPS on my phone.  Thinking I had past it already, imagine my surprise when the automated voice told me to head north for three more miles.  "Three more miles," I thought, "why are there no signs?"  I got back on the road and a few miles later my GPS alerted me to turn left at a point in the road where no streets to turn left on were obvious.  I trusted my virtual compass and made the hair pin turn out onto the dirt road. I was informed by my virtual guide to "keep driving" and then I finally hit town.   The downtown of Bolinas, California.

I parked my car outside a small general store, got out, and began walking.  Why was this place so hard to find?  I had done my homework online, via Yelp, but even in the few reviews I read about Bolinas written by weary backpackers and international visitors, no one knew exactly how to get here.   Even the City of Bolinas official website gave vague directions on where to find them.  It was all very suspicious.  Why so secretive?  My mind began to wonder.  What were they hiding? Did they all become vampires at night?

Life Lessons from the Lagoon

I walked past a cute little restuarant called the Coast Cafe.  I knew I would be getting hungry soon, so when I first saw the CLOSED sign, my heart sank.  I got a little closer to it and realized they would re-open at 5pm for dinner.  I made a mental note.

As I walked along the main drag, the street began to curl to the right.  Locals walked in the middle of the road, some pushing baby strollers, some wearing beach towels wrapped around their waists.  Not alot of traffic in these parts.  I had passed some cute houses, when I noticed one of them had adorned their wooden fence with seashells.  "Wow", I thought.  "They are so trusting to leave really cool shells out in the open like that.  I would worry that someone would steal them."  This would reveal two things about me.  1) I live in Oakland where people steal stuff. 2) I had no idea the level of abundance of shells that I would soon partake in.

Shortly after, I arrived at the public access entrance of the beach and it was exactly how I pictured it would be.  Only a handful of people walked along the sand, with some young bohemian folks huddled in a spot playing instruments, while others walked their dogs.  I saw only a few surfers riding the waves.

But what I really noticed when I looked down along the wet sand, were all the sea shells.  I got giddy.

It was like manifest destiny as I began picking up shells immediately that had washed up on the shore.  I couldn't believe it.  Entire whole shells, just sitting there, all for the taking.  I realized I had left my plastic bag that I had brought for collecting, in my car.  I would have to put the shells in my purse. 

At first I started putting shells in the side pockets of my purse. I was not anticipating finding so many. But soon, I just started dumping them directly into my purse.  I just didn't have enough room.  Shells that were white, brown, big and small and different shapes.  Some clam-like, some half-conch shaped.  Pretty soon I was being picky, not grabbing just any shells, like I used to at other beaches, but only the ones that I didn't already have.  It was there that I felt like God spoke to me.

I realized, as the shells grew in abundance, that I could be selective, and hold out for only the best shells.  I didn't have to settle for broken shells, or even cute rocks, like I had over at Stinson Beach.  I could pick whole shells only.  In fact, any broken shells I had collected earlier that day, I dumped back onto the beach.  It was life lessons from the Lagoon.  Hold out for the best.  Do not settle.  Your day of abundance is coming.

After combing the beach for about an hour, I was really hungry.  My purse was heavy and I needed to eat.  I followed the locals through a short cut back onto the main road and stopped off at a yard sale briefly. I may have been tired and hungry, but I am always a sucker for a yard sale.   From there I walked passed an old small Episcapalian chapel, and then landed at a antique/bookstore/hostel called "The Grand Hotel."

Local House of Worship

The Grand Hotel

As I stopped inside the The Grand Hotel, the man running the place asked me where I was visiting from.  "Is it that obvious?"  I asked.  "I know everyone in this town," he boasted.  I wanted to ask him, "so are you all vampires?"  But I held my tongue.

I did ask him why there were no road signs leading to Bolinas and he simply said, "we tear them down."   Ah, I thought - must be a vampire thing.

I finally arrived back to my car and dumped all my seashells into my plastic bag to make room in my purse again.  I felt a little lighter as I entered the Coast Cafe for dinner.  I ordered the fish and chips, as I sat by a fire place inside, for it was beginning to getting chilly.

I felt completely serene as I looked around this place.  The locals might be a little wierd with their exclusivity and torn road signs tacked up on the cafe walls for display, but I was definitely coming back here.  Bolinas had become my new favorite spot.

As I finished dessert - a berry pie and some coffee, I decided to snap a few more photos of the downtown and then get back on the road to the east bay before it got dark. It was going to take me about an hour just to get back to the freeway and I wanted to get home before the witching hour begun I turned back into a pumpkin.

Art in Bolinas

The Local Watering Hole

Turns out the long and winding road to Bolinas is paved with good intentions.  Well, it's either that or seashells.  Or vampires.


No, but really...It's the seashells.

 .

Ready To Exhale

Well, I never thought a history class over the course of the Spring Semester, would become so consuming that it would zap me of my creative energy.  I turned in my final paper this past week as it was the last of three consuming projects taking up all the room in my brain.  That paper plus a team building project at work and a dance/rap performance at the Berkeley YMCA-  they all were due within a few days of eachother and this time last week, I thought I was going to spontaneously combust.  Yes, I know, compared to people with real problems, that sounds like nothing, but even good stress is still stress.

And now...I exhale.  I finally have time to catch up with a Memorial Three Day Weekend of Rest, that I have been so looking forward to.  While others head out of town or head to San Francisco to celebrate the 75th Anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge and the Carnaval Parade in the Mission District, I chose to do not much of anything and I love it.  I chose to space out and stare at my messy apartment or gaze out my window.  I slept in til 10:30am this morning. It was glorious.

When Donna Summer died a couple of weeks ago, I was going to blog about that, but then another Bee Gee died and then I was going to blog about "The Week That Disco Died", and then I found out a good friend's mom died and I sort of hit a wall.  What is up with all this death?  2012 has already greeted us with too many R.I.P.s than I know what to do with.  Starting with my aunt's death in January, to Whitney Houston's death in February, then Ronnie Montrose's death in March, then another friend's parent's death in April, and then three deaths in May- I am SPENT. AND IT'S NOT EVEN HAPPENING TO ME.  I keep thinking I will write some deep blog once I have time to reflect, but I am not there yet.  Everyone quit dying, already.

2012 - the year of loss. Who would have thunk it?

Mom, You're Just Jealous, It's The Beastie Boys

In the Fall of 1986, during my junior year in high school, I attended a Regional Lip Sincing Contest, where high schools from all around the East Bay competed for the coveted top prize: a trophy and a gift certificate to some local ice creamery.   That's right, the stakes were high and had Britney Spears been alive back then, she would have taken it all.

As corny as this event was, it was the first time I ever heard a Beastie Boys song.  Three young black guys from a rivaling high school got on the stage and started lip sincing to a song tilted, "Paul Revere".  I remember thinking three things: the beat was awesome, their dance moves were cool, and the Beastie Boys were black.  Their team ended up taking 2nd place.

Those kids from that other high school were ahead of all of us.  Pretty soon "Paul Revere" blew up at my own high school and was being rapped at a talent show during our homecoming week by two white guys in my class.  A mod girl (80's hipster) who sat in front of me in my English class also raved about the song.  The Beastie Boys started getting played at dances.  Everybody- black, white, hip hopper, punk rocker, liked this band.

After a string of hits from their debut album, "License To Ill", apparently the group hit a Sophmore slump.  I remember standing in line at Tower Records, the following year in 1987, waiting to purchase Madonna tickets for the "Who's That Girl" Tour, when the the record store employee announced, "I have 2nd row Beastie Boy tickets!"  and nobody in the Madonna line wanted them.  Were the Beastie Boys already over?

Not so, as their career quickly shot back.  I didn't keep track of their hits after high school, but I remember the group continuing to be popular.  I asked a drummer friend of mine in 1994 who was a fan, what he thought the reason was behind the Beastie Boys comeback success after their initial slump.  He casually replied, "they put out a good album."

Could it have really been that simple? You mean it actually is about the music?  In an era where hype, costume changes, and music videos dominated pop culture, could good music still be appreciated?

The Beastie Boys continued to be popular, and in 1998, when I was 27 years old, a 17 year old high school senior gushed about them one day after seeing them at a music festival.  "Both black and white people love them," she declared.  This band was still going strong.  And she, as well as her friends, knew all the "older" songs from their debut album - the one that was released back when I was in high school.

The Beastie Boys continued to headline concerts, release hits on popular radio, and stay relevant. With the exception of the band U2, I don't know many acts of my generation who have continued to garner this type of long lasting success.

A few years ago, as a joke, I started performing parody raps, after being inspired by Amy Poehler's "Sarah Palin rap" on Saturday Night Live.  I watched her performance over and over again and then did the rap myself at a company work party.   I started getting requests to do more raps and I even rewrote and performed the Beastie Boy's hit "She's Crafty",  for an announcement for a "Ladies Craft Night" at church.  That's right- The Beastie Boys during church.  You couldn't get rid of them.  Then I teamed up with my friend Peggy from my hip hop dance class and we became rappers "Tmoney and Pegeisha."  We performed at various friends' birthday parties and we still perform today. 

In March of this year, during a friend's birthday outing at a Berkeley burger-joint-turned-karaoke-club, Peggy and I rapped "Paul Revere" in front of a small crowd as they ate their tater tots and sliders.  We picked the song because it was one of few songs that we both knew the words to.  Peggy is 14 years my junior.

MCA, I can't believe you left us so early. You made rap legitimate to a group of young white kids from the suburbs. Without you, we may have never listened.


Peace.



I hope no bad people show up...



http://www.iviewtube.com/v/182172/the-beastie-boys-(you-gotta)-fight-for-your-right-(to-party)-omv-classic

Escape to Alcatraz - The Local Tourist

Back in March,  I learned that I needed to write a bucket list.  "50 things that I wanted to do before I die", and one of them had to happen by March 17th.  It was all part of an exercise for a class I was taking at my church titled, "Emerge: Claim Your Creativity"    Reaching the given deadlne presented a challenge since most of my bucket list consisted of goals such as, "Go to Denmark" and/or "Go to France".  I was pretty much just naming countries.  How was I going to get to Europe and back by the 17th of March?

So I put in a call for help to one of the teachers.  She, herself, was going to "ride a mechanical bull", before the 17th, so that put it all in perspective.   I realized I could do something pretty cool on a local level.  Then it hit me, "why not take advantage of the fact I live 15 minutes from one of the coolest cities in the world-  San Francisco?"

So I booked a ticket to Alcatraz.

Alcatraz.  A place I kept meaning to visit, and a historically notorious landmark.  A destination that inspired many books and movies, and a tourist trap that currently has a television show named after it.  It seemed like a no brainer.  It was the one Bay Area experience that I had not taken part in while filming on location on a movie set. 

I had already been to Coit Tower while doing extra work on a television pilot.  I had already ridden a cable car during a four night shoot on the Sandra Bullock movie, "The Net".  I had already been to Lombard Street while doing stand-in work on the television show "Party of Five."  I had already worked at The Palace of Fine Arts doing photo double work for Juliette Lewis on the movie, "The Other Sister".  And I already visited Legion of Honor while working on the Jennifer Lopez movie, "The Wedding Singer".  And the list goes on and on.  But the location of Alcatraz had always alluded me.

Until now.

So on March 11th in the late morning, I put myself in a touristy head space and left my Oakland apartment for The Rock.  I hopped on a BART train using my new Clipper card for the first time (and now my new best friend).  From there, I grabbed the F Muni Line (via Clipper again thank you) and arrived at Alcatraz Landing by 12:15pm.  I normally avoid group travel like the plague, assuming that I would be surrounded by loud families from outer space  the midwest other kinds of places, but I decided to suck it up and take my place in line with the rest of the out-of-towners. I refused to be too cool for school. But at times it was hard.

Like while I was waiting to get my tickets at the Will Call Booth standing behind these people who were taking way too long to explain to the cashier why their reservations weren't in the computer.  All I heard was, "but our hotel said..." 

So I got bored and took their pictures.

What not to wear in San Francisco if you want to blend in

#THERESAFAILINGATTRYINGTONOTBECOOL

Once I received my ticket we were corralled into another line to get our picture taken against a fake backdrop of Alcatraz.  Really? But I was going to snap a bunch of beautiful shots against a REAL Alcatraz backdrop, so I refused. I mean, this was just tacky. 

Yeah, I don't think so.

We boarded our boat at 12:45pm and we were off and it was the most relaxing part of the trip.

How giddy was when I found a window seat facing forward, over looking the beautiful bay, complete with a wall socket for me to plug my smart phone in? Now THIS was traveling.  This boat had bathrooms, snacks for sale, AND electricity. "Someone pinch me," I thought as I played Words With Friends on my phone, looked out the window and stared at the beautiful bay waters.

Not being much of a "getting back to nature girl", I had previous visions of roughing it on a small ferry, amongst crashing waves, strangers, and sea sickness while holding my bladder and praying for the next bathroom break.  Instead, I was cruising in the lap of luxury.  I better be, I paid 26 bucks for this trip!

Rough'n it!

The boat ride was too short and we arrived at Alcatraz in about 10 minutes.  I waited to be one of the last people to leave the boat, to get maximum usage of the outlet charging my phone.

Once we arrived, tourists were given the option to be part of a informative audio tour.  I tried to stand still and listen to the woman as she gave us an overview of her knowledge, but I kept straying from the pack.  I wanted to take pictures, roam around and be free. I figured I had already seen the movie "Escape From Alcatraz" a couple of times, so that qualified me as an Alcatraz historian, right? Right?

Tour Guide

Aaaand, I wandered off....

Fly birdy be free!!

The birds pretty much run the joint now

Once I went inside the old prison building, I noticed a long line had formed and I didn't have the patience to stand in it so I went around it.

Apparently it was a line to get a pair of headphones.

Oops.

As I walked among a group of people with compromised hearing, I snapped pictures out of order of the tour.  I think it's safe to say I don't do organized group activities very well.   I prefer to work alone.

Luxury accomodations at the Alcatraz Inn

How some of the prisoners escaped through the vent in the back.




Apparently this prisoner liked music (set dressing compliments of ??)



And this guy played dominoes...

Group Shower Everyone!

  

I would think that between having to do your toilet business inside a cell block the size of a hall closet, with only bars used as a door - and taking a shower in a room full of naked criminals, that the complete lack of privacy would be enough incentive to never break the law again.  But I guess some people were willing to take that chance.

And then you know, there was the fine dining....

All you can eat buffet...

Can you read this?

And then years after Alcatraz closed down, the Native Americans came back to to claim the land.

Apparently their occupation didn't last long, but may we offer you your own"exhibit" in one of the spare rooms as a parting gift?

And then I rounded the corner and realized I had come to the end of our audio tour.

Exit Through The Gift Shop

This book author grew up on Alcatraz

I also bought myself a little sumpin sumpin, but I forgot to take a picture of it.  But hey, you see one purple hoodie with the word ALCTRAZ decal ironed on the front of it, you've seen them all.

And then I was outside again to take in the fresh air and enjoy the views.  The same views the prisoners of this place were tortured with as they performed outside work duties.  What do you think is more cruel? Being so close to such beauty and knowing you will never taste freedom again, or being tortured in a North Korean Gulag?  Yeah, we still win.

You like those views, do ya prisoner?  Don't even think about leaving! Because I am always watching you.

And the water down there is pretty cold.

But they tried anyway.

About two hours later I was ready to catch the next ferry and get back to the mainland.  My lower back was beginning to hurt and I realized that if I wanted to keep taking trips I would need to get a better pair of walking shoes.

The Looove Boat...

Women overboard!!

Coit Tower greeted us upon our return to the Landing.

After we landed back at the pier, I exited quickly and whizzed past the display of tourist photos that were finally developed and waiting for us upon arrival.  I wandered inside the Alcatraz Landing Gift Shop to use the bathroom and then got on the next F Muni bus line back to the BART station.  From there I took the next east bay bound train and was back at my car within 20 minutes.  So fast. So easy.  I love the Bay Area.

As I drove the 10 minute ride home from the train station, I pondered my next local tourist destination.  Where would it be? Angel Island?  Half Moon Bay?  The Wine Country?  Who knows....  Stay tuned.

Streams of Conciousness

In an attempt to bump the last blog down because I desperately need a new one, I will write off the top of my head just to get the ball rolling again.

1. I am working on a blog about my recent trip to Alcatraz and I also started a travel blog.

2. I am taking a class on creativity every Saturday afternoon through April.  This catepillar is becoming a butterfly.

3. I am taking a history class every Tuesday night at Merritt College in Oakland and it's very time-consuming, reading wise- and this comes from a girl who reads as little as possible. Okay, that makes me sound bad, but sitting still and staring at words on a page lulls me to sleep.  I would rather watch a documentary.  And this truly bums me out because I like history- but I am a tactile learner.  Perhaps we can do a skit in class about communism? I will play the bad guy- Stalin, Mao, etc., 

4. I am saving my nickels so I can travel abroad and I am very excited about that.  I am finally at a place in my life where I am able to put money away instead of just getting by.  Hallelujah.  I want to see the world, and what I mean by world, is mainly Europe and some parts of Asia.   This small town girl needs to fly.

5. Occupy Oakland has been relatively quiet lately.  They still do actions, but I don't see them as much. I still follow them on Twitter.

6. There are way too many birthdays in April and I have been losing track.

7. I did not spell-check this blog.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled programming.  Work, then driving in the rain to Merritt College to listen to my history teacher from Chile tell me what's wrong with America.  Whatever.

In Sickness and In Health

The Greatest Gift

"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal.  And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.  And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing.

Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up;  does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil;  does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth;  bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

Love never fails*

Last weekend, I did something difficult.  I attended the memorial service for my Aunt Alice, who passed away on January 17, 2012.

At the beginning of 2012, I heard the news that my aunt had been given a month to live.  She had been sick for quite awhile, battling cancer for years, along with other complications from her illness.  But it wasn't until  towards the end of 2011, that her condition took a turn for the worse.

When I saw her most recently at our family's Annual Donahoe Dominoe Tournament over Labor Day Weekend last year, she seemed to be herself and in good spirits.  But when my sister and I went to visit her on Friday, January 13th, at a home in Brentwood, she was on pain-killers and going in and out of conciousness.

As we walked into her room, I saw my Uncle Pete, her husband, sitting at her bedside, attending her every need.  Getting her ice chips, helping her sit up, fluffing her pillows and doing whatever he could to make sure she was comfortable.  Most of the time she seemed high as a kite on morphine and not quite herself, but then every once in awhile she appeared totally aware.  Enough to look at my uncle teasingly and call him a "rotten scoundrel", as he helped her get up from her bed to her chair.  Her sense of humor would come back for just a moment.

"This is what love looks like," I thought as I watched my uncle in action.   This is truly what those vows mean when they say, "in sickness and in health."  How many couples have this sort of dedication to one another?  And I know if it was my Uncle Pete who had been sick, Alice would have loved him the same way.

My Aunt Alice and Uncle Pete were married in April of 1974.   I remember being a little girl, going with my dad to the airport to pick them up from their honeymoon.  I was all of 3 years old, but I remember seeing my uncle still wearing a Hawaiian lay around his neck as he gave my dad a hug when we greeted them at the gate.  This was my first memory of Alice.

Alice was my uncle's second wife, but to me, she was never a "step-aunt".  She was just my aunt.  And her son Scott, was never my "step cousin", but simply- my cousin.

My Aunt Alice loved to laugh and was the hugger in the family.  She brought affection to a somewhat stoic Donahoe clan and it was refreshingingly welcome.

Last weekend we celebrated her.  In true Alice fashion, she wanted us to have a party after she died.  When I arrived to the service at my uncle's house in Discovery Bay, I was greeted with hugs followed by champagne.  She wanted to make sure we had champagne.  So we had a memorial service for her, cried and shared stories.  And then per her request, we ate and drank and mingled.  I sat out on the back deck of their house on a long swinging porch chair, looking out at the sunset as it splashed across the delta waters.  So many memories of attending parties in this house that they built from scratch.  Memories of my cousin Scott fishing out on the deck as a child. 

Thank you Aunt Alice for your laughter and hugs.  And thank you Uncle Pete for demonstrating what love really looks like.


*1 Corinthians 13:1-8

The Morning After

IT WAS ON THE SET OF THE MOVIE "SCREAM", back in the Spring of 1996, that I learned to drink coffee.  During that two-month shoot, we had been working 12 hour days, with one month of those "days" being all-night shoots starting at 6pm and ending at 6am.  Those chilly evenings in Tomales Bay, California, sent me straight to the craft service truck in search of a hot beverage, and in my desperation to stay awake around three o'clock in the morning, I found myself attempting coffee for the first time, mixed with a little half and half and hot cocoa powder.  In these pre-Starbucks-monopolized times, we deemed it the "white trash mocha".

After two months straight of that vigorous filming schedule, which included the hour commute from my parents' sunny house in Martinez to the windy shores of Sonoma County, we finally wrapped principal photography in mid-June of that year.  On my last day on set, after many hugs and goodbyes, I did my final drive home for the last time from Santa Rosa back to Martinez and crashed heavily.

The next morning I threw up.

For the first time in my life, I had experienced what I call, "Movie Hangover".  After one works so many insane hours on a movie set, at a break-neck pace, the body adapts to high levels of adrenaline and stress.  Once this insanity is over, the body goes into a deep relaxation mode and must re-learn normacy.  For me, it would be a little while before I could adjust back to the typical, day to day civilization, and after this stormy, but exciting movie experience, I wasn't sure if I wanted to.

My whole life I had always found myself being chronically bored with the conventional 9 to 5 mundane work week and school schedule.  I found "regular hours" depressing and predictable.   I learned that only when thrown into fast paced situations, did I feel alive.  I did not grow up in chaos at all, so it wasn't an "addicted to dysfunctional drama" type of thing. If anything, I felt as though I grew up with very little drama, and the actress in me was craving a more creative and colorful life.   And when I took a "PersonalityTest", and scored high in the "Phlegmatic" tempermant, my results read: "Strengths: Works well under pressure.  Negatives: Only works under pressure."   It hit the nail on the head.  Had I finally found my calling in the insanely paced entertainment industry? Finally?

And the movie hangover would continue.  After coming off of film sets such as "Bicentennial Man", (which answered the question, "what does the 16 hour work day look like?")  and the movie set of "RENT", (which religiously stuck to its 6:30am call times, a first in my 15 years in this business), I would find myself doing the zombie walk for about two weeks.  Sure, I had made a decent amount of money in a short period of time, but I was too tired to spend it all and my apartment looked like a tornado had hit it.   I couldn't think past the moment, let alone the day.  My brain would become tapioca pudding. It was mush.

And yet, like a little addict, I recently found myself doing it again, but this time, in a much shorter time frame. 

I just finished working a three day shoot on the set of the indie film, "Roman's Way" this past Saturday.  When I finally got home, I closed my front door, shut my blinds, fell into my bed, curled up in the fetal position, and turned off the world. I would do the zombie walk for the next 24 hours before returning back to the reality and am grateful that I had today, Presidents' Day, to just veg out and catch up on my thoughts.

A three day shoot may not seem like much compared to a two month shoot, but believe me, the post-creative-stress-syndrome symptoms are the same:

Our Director, Kerwin, after initial filming had wrapped.

Someone please help Tony, our leading man:

Before I step in and take over, because this movie had no parts for females:

(Can I pass for a boy?)

And now our editing crew has stepped in to finish up our film, and as I type this, we are still at least $3,000 shy of our fund-raising goal to compete this movie! Please, if you can contribute anything to this project and support creativity, even if it's just a dollar, it would be much appreciated! Our deadline is in three days! Yikes! 

Donate Here

If online donations make you uncomfortable, just email me the amount at tbabe29@yahoo.com, and I will contribute on your behalf and collect from you later.

For a complete set of pictures from the set of Roman's Way, you can check out these facebook links:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.3090684699916.143173.1047947811&type=3&l=cc4b7ca90e

 

Filming may be over for now, but...

 

The show must go on.

 

Me, on stage, in my natural habitat.

 

 

750 Words

Well, what can I say, writing comes naturally to me.  I am participating in this 750 words a day exercise from the website 750 Words and I wrote 750 words in 12 minutes.  And, to think, I thought this would be time consuming.

It's all part of my participation in a course I am taking called "Emerge"- expanding my creativity. I love writing.

I am also to write 2,000 words by the end of the week. I have already written 1000.  And now I am blogging.

So much to do today.  Laundry. Rap. Tea Party. Brandon's movie tonight.  History paper. Oh, and reading. Who has time to read?  And I am also working on a short film this week.

And now, on with the show.

Sunday Reflections

Life feels like it's been moving very fast lately, so I am grateful to have a moment to pause and reflect on this current season I am in.

1. I started school two weeks ago.  American History 1865-2008. 


Tuesday nights at Merritt College in Oakland.  More reading than I know what to do with.  For the most part it's  interesting, but discussions in class are not my long suit and my mind goes blank when called on.  Fortunately, I love to write and there will be alot of writing papers in this class.  It's usually when I start typing, that my thoughts flood to the surface.

This Tuesday night class was the only one that was open by the time I registered for school.  Ironically, all the online classes were filled.  What does this say about today's students?  No one wants to sit in a classroom to learn about history? People are too busy? Crazy.  I would rather be in class for this topic and I don't even like discussion groups.

Oakland is a very diverse area, so I like to play, "count the white people" sometimes.  I counted five white people in my class last Tuesday night if you include me- a half Mexican.  It's like a freakin rainbow.  Toto, we are no longer in Martinez. 

And of course, as in most night classes that I take, there is always one "older" person.  One gray haired ex-Vietnam vet, who knows everything who bonds with the teacher because they are around the same age.  Yeah, we got one of those in class.  Teacher's pet.

I can't wait when we start talking about the cold war, Russia, communism, etc.,  That is the part that interests me the most.

2. This hand is your hand.  This hand is my hand...  In an episode of FRIENDS, Joey insists that he has found his "Identical Hand Twin" in Vegas and he is going to be a millionaire.  Now, I didn't quite find my identical hand twin, but I did do a little hand modeling in a commerical that is to air today, during the Superbowl.  I signed a "confidentiality agreement", so I won't say too much else.  But if you happen to see female hands on a steering wheel in a car commercial, you could be looking at my my hands....

3. Speaking of hand modeling and wierd ways to make money..... I had been praying about possibly taking a creativity class at my church, but I didn't have the funds to pay for it.  Then boom, I got the hand modeling gig.  The check came in the mail yesterday.  It pays for my creativity class.  Where God guides, God provides.

4. And continuing on the thread of God's provision....  I will be doing some background work on an American Express commerical tomorrow in the wine country.  Since I am union, it pays well.  I will be portraying a "restaurant patron" and no, we don't get to eat the food.  Usually food is a prop on a plate and it just sits there all day and you do not want to eat it.  With this paycheck, I will buy a pair of boots that don't have holes in them.  I hate shopping and I will wear shoes, socks, and jeans until they tear apart.  It's time for baby to get a new pair of shoes!

5. I finally rinsed the seashells that I collected last week from the beach in Santa Cruz.   Okay, so I pretty much pillaged the beach last week and when I got home, I put my plastic bag of seashells in the kitchen sink to rinse later.  But then life got busy, and the next thing I knew, a whole week had gone by and boy, if you don't rinse those shells right away, well, did you know that seaweed just WREAKS? 

So I put the bag in my refrigerator.  Then my refrigerator smelled. 

Favorite shell that I found (if you don't count the starfish that Tati and I released back into the ocean):

Speaking of Tati....

6. Words With Friends is highly addicting.  So what if Tati has an 100 point lead on me? At least I am winning against my mom and my mom's friend from high school.  Two out of three ain't bad.  Now if I can just figure out how to decline a rematch, so I don't end up having five games going with my mother at one time and three games going with Tati....

7. Support our short film  A group of my friends and I have entered a speed film making contest. We have to make a film in one week and we desperately need to raise funds before filming starts on February 16th.  I have collaborated with this group of people before and it's alot of fun.  To read more about the project, go here:  http://www.indiegogo.com/168-Film-Festival-SF-Team-1

8. It's gettin real in the Berkeley Y Parking Lot....  DJ Dave, originally from Berkeley, came out with a rap called "It's Gettin Real In The Whole Foods Parking Lot" and the video went viral on You Tube.  As in standard hip hop tradition at the Berkeley Y, my girl Pegeisha and I will be be performing a parody rap take on this about our own Berkeley Y Parking lot.  I just need to finish the lyrics so it can be ready a week from today for our February Birthday Hip Hop Interactive Tea Party. 

In my last blog, I said I was tired.  After reading all of the above, THIS is why I am tired. But it's a good kind of tired. I am also getting over a cold, so that might have something to do with it. And the fact that I went to Art Murmur last Friday Night and was out late last night for Peggy's 28th Birthday.  Now it's Sunday afternoon, my apartment needs a cleaning, the Superbowl is going to start in a few hours, I have to read about History and get my wardrobe ready for the American Express shoot tomorrow.

See ya.



Case of The Missing Blogger

I have been M.I.A. from this blog, but only because life has been busy, and not out of laziness.

1. I started school last week. I am taking an American History class and my teacher said he will accept papers written in English, Spanish, French or Portugese.  Toto, we are not in Martinez anymore.

2. My sister graduated from National Holistic Institute in Massage Therapy.  Woo hoo! Backrubs!

3. I went to Santa Cruz this past weekend, attended a wedding, went to the beach, and found a Sea Star:

Pretty frickin cool. It totally caught me off guard.  After showing it to some kids, Tati and I released it back into the ocean because I am pretty sure it was still alive.

Tati in her natural habitat

Okay, after writing all this out, I thought I was busier than this.  Why am I so tired?

Next up: FEBRUARY

Until next time.....

Peace

The Parable of the Lost Wallet

TWAS two nights before Christmas when my girl posse and I decided to venture out for some sushi and club-hopping in Oakland to blow off a little holiday steam.

After two hours of eating and conversation at Kan Sai Japanese restaurant in Oakland's Temescal District (aka the hipsterville)-  we headed downtown to the clubs.  We started at "The Layover", which was spinning the mellow jams. I am not a fan of the mellow jam, and one drink later, we decided to leave and walk over to our faithful go-to club, "Somar", which was just a few blocks away.

Somar did not disappoint, as the music of old school rapper "Too Short" blasted through their walls upon our arrival.  Once we flashed our ID's, Peggy and I quickly slithered to the back of the club, towards the dance floor.  We tucked our jackets and purses between the couches and the speakers by the DJ, and started dancing. The rest of the group soon joined us and at one point in the night, I used my ATM card to buy a drink, but then quickly went back out on the floor.

A couple of hours later, we were ready to leave, and decided to go back to The Layover once last time, since it was close to where we had parked our cars.  I went in briefly with everyone, and no one carded us the second time around.  After about five minutes, around 12:50pm, I decided to leave and said goodbye to everyone and headed back to the town of Albany, where I was cat sitting for a friend of mine through the holidays.

The next morning I woke up at 11am and discovered my wallet was missing.

It was Christmas Eve! I was supposed to do some last minute Christmas shopping!  I was thinking about cramming in a hip hop dance class as well!  I had plans sort of- and now, instead, I would be spending the rest of the day running around like a chicken with my head cut off trying to recover everything I left in my wallet on a day where most business were either closed or closed early.  I had to get crackin!

At first I assumed my wallet was stolen, I mean, I was in a club in downtown Oakland.  I did leave my purse in a pile of other purses covered in a pile of coats while I danced the night away.  I did grab my camera out of my purse a few times throughout the night to take pictures of our group:

Me and my girls at The Layover

Yes, that's me holding my pink phone, my baby, my umbilical cord.

Whose the chick who brought her brother?? Alison!

I figured between all the picture taking, my wallet must have fallen out of my purse.  But when I checked my online banking statement, there was no unusual activity on my ATM card.  There were also no extraneous charges on my gas card, which was the only other card in my wallet. I found that odd. If someone had taken it, wouldn't they have started charging my cards right away?  I started praying.

As relieved as I was that no one had started using my credit cards, I started to wonder if my wallet was just sitting on the dance floor still, waiting for another night of revelers to come in and steal it.  I couldn't take that chance.

I contacted both Somar and The Layover, and of course they were closed.  Somar didn't even have a phone number, but simply a "lost and found" email address, and they wouldn't re-open until December 27th.  I know most people would have thought that my wallet was as good as gone, but I couldn't help but think that my wallet was either sitting on the floor between the couches and the speakers, or someone had turned it in to the bartender.  I also had a slight chance of hope that someone would mail it to me.  Naive? Perhaps, but there continued to be no unusual activity on either one of my cards the following days after.

The only precaution I took was changing my ATM card the day my wallet went missing.  It was there, at the bank, adorned in my "morning after" sweatshirt, yoga pants, hair up in a pony tail with no make-up on my face, that I confessed my sins to a very understanding young banker named Darrell.

Me: I lost my wallet.  I need a new ATM card

Darrell: Where do you think you left it at?

Me: (putting my head down on his desk): I was at da club.

Darrell: You wuz at da club?

Me: I was at da club.

Darell: Which club?

Me: Somar.

Darrell: That place is always packed!

I nodded solemnly. Darrell quickly canceled my old card and issued me a temporary one that would get me through the holidaze and I was on my way.

As each day passed without my wallet, I continued to check my gas card activity online to make sure there were no new charges.  I prayed that God would surround my wallet with His angels and that it would get into the right hands. 

On December 27th, I heard back from the people at Somar via email and they told me they did not find my wallet anywhere.  It wasn't behind the bar or anywhere on the dance floor.  Same with the staff at The Layover, when they finally returned my call.  I knew it was a long shot.

I didn't want to go to the DMV and get another license.  I didn't want to cancel my gas card and get a new one.  I wanted my wallet back. 

Still hoping, that someone would mail it to me, I went by my Oakland apartment a couple of times to pick up my mail, and still, no wallet.

On December 28th, a friend who was coming to crash at my place during the holidays texted me that he was on his way.  I told him to let me know if I received any packages.  I still had hope.

On December 29th, my neighbor called me in the morning and reported:

"Hey, T, we found your wallet under your doormat!"

"Yes!" I declared excitedly and asked her to put it inside my apartment.

I rushed over to my place after work to find my wallet, with my credit cards in place and nothing taken.  Not only did this mystery person bring my wallet back to me, fully in tact, lacking nothing, but they hand delivered it.  They didn't mail it, they didn't even turn it into the bartender.  They brought it to my front door.

This got me thinking.

I could have had my prayer answered immediately and have found my wallet at the club, and it still would have been a miracle.  Or the wallet could have been mailed to me a couple of days after- even more so. But for it to show up 6 days later, hand delivered, touched me even more.

I am not a stranger to the miracle.  For the story about how I lost, but then found, my pink smart phone at a U2 concert, read this blog .

Sometimes God's timing is not ours.  In fact, it seldom is. Sometimes He delays answers to prayers for the sake of the bigger miracle.  Hey- maybe He will answer another prayer of mine by hand delivering me a husband right to my front door! Ha! Lord knows I have waited long enough....

I can see it now. I have visions of me jumping up every time the UPS man knocks on any doors in my apartment building and me chasing down his truck in the street, yelling, "Wait, did you knock?  Come back! You might be my husband!"

Hey, it's either that or the Jehovah Witnesses....

But seriously, to my guardian angel, if you are reading this, that means you googled my name off of my license -because this blog pops right up in an internet search.  Contact me.  I would love to know where you found my wallet.  But if not....

See you in heaven.