While I was on jury duty, I had a ton of ideas for things to write about, but I never actually managed to. Thank goodness I wrote these ideas downs! That way, when I’m going through a notebook I had carried with me and happen upon some of my ideas, I have a post that is almost completely written for me! I’m nothing if not all about doing very little work.
One of the things that really stuck out to me was taking public transportation in Los Angeles(possibly for the first time ever…I seem to remember taking a bus with Grandma when I was a kid…maybe?). I have taken public transportation in NY and SF many times, but never in my hometown. It’s LA…we drive. Except that the drive into Downtown in rush hour traffic made me stress out so much that I would have convicted anyone just so I could get out before 3:30 and not have to come back the next day.
My friend Chad was actually the one who suggested it. He told me it was only $2.50 round trip and it would drop me off right at the courthouse. So, for the first time (possibly the last time…) I took Chad’s advice.
While the actual train was awesome(always on time, crowded on the way home but not unbearably so), I had one issue that I should have anticipated given the fact that it’s LA: parking.
“Park and Ride” stations. Sounds perfect right? The only problem is that there is not NEARLY enough parking for all the people taking the train! No actually there is, except that half the lot is for monthly parking. Which was NEVER even CLOSE to full. Rows and rows of open parking spots, all of which would be great for those of us who have to drive to the station because there is no bus anywhere near our residence. But NO. The MTA would rather leave those spots empty to early morning commuters in hope that people will pay a monthly fee.
I decided that maybe I should just buy a monthly pass. I knew the trial would take at least 14 days so, depending on how much it costs, a monthly pass might be worth it, if for no other reason than it would keep me from pulling my hair out looking for parking and then just end up parking in one of the monthly spots out of frustration and getting a $40 parking ticket. (Which I did.) But guess what? THE PARKING PASSES FOR THE NOHO STATION WERE SOLD OUT! WTF?! How can they be sold out when every single morning there are 5 rows with at least 40 spots each totally empty?! MTA, I would like an explanation, please.
In the end, the trial ended up lasting 15 days, 11 of which I took the subway. I might have been totally frustrated by the parking situation, but by the time I got to the courthouse, I was totally relaxed. I would read my book, listen to music or just people watch, which was probably the most interesting part about it. When you people watch in the car, you run the risk of crashing into the stopped car in front of you. (Which I haven’t done yet, but I feel like it might be one of those inevitabilities about living in LA, like fake boobs and spray tans.)
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Dart
It has been a long time since I updated my blog. That's what happens when you work 2 jobs and barely have enough time to do your laundry, let alone write anything interesting or worth reading. (Not that anything I write is interesting or worth reading, but I try.) But, well, I now only have one job, so hopefully there will be a whole lot more where these came from. (The "only have one job" is going to be a different post.)
Now comes the all-important question: What do I write after having been absent for so many months? Do I write about why I only have one job now? Do I write about the fun phone calls I’ve had to deal with? Do I continue my Jury Duty story that I never did continue? Nope...I feel like this post is going to have to be something easy, much like the first workout after not exercising for a long time. (Yet another post idea…) So, I’m instead going to write about something very near and dear to my heart: the Dart.
The Dart is a 1974 Dodge Dart that is kind of a family heirloom. My grandparents on my dad’s side bought it brand new in 1974. Then, my Aunt Bev drove it out to CSUN for college. Then, my grandparents drove it for many more years before giving it to my dad to update their ride to a pimped out Oldsmobile station wagon(corduroy seats anyone?). My sister then had the pleasure of driving it, and then, it came to me. I drove it almost every single day of my senior year of high school. My dad took it back when I started college and needed something to make the long drive out to Pierce. He drives it everyday to work. Except when my car has trouble and I have to us it.
We don’t have money or jewels to pass down generations, but the Dart is totally priceless.
Now, looking at it, you wouldn’t think much of it. The blue paint has faded and the white canvas top is almost completely gone. The seats are cracked so the padding is showing and the dashboard is not in the greatest shape. In order to open the trunk, you need a screwdriver and a little bit of lock-picking talent. This is all before I mention how my dad keeps every water bottle from the past year in the front seat along with his passes from work, his Thomas Guide, jumper cables, and straws. Plus, the Christmas lights in the back seat he got from General Hospital. (Do we actually need more Christmas lights? No, but the prop department was throwing them out so I must take them!)
Driving it is, well, to put it nicely, an adventure. There is a whole ritual to getting it to start and then you have to keep your foot on the accelerator to keep it from dying. When you need to brake, you have to pump the brakes three times and pray that three times was enough. The heater has to be on at all times so it won’t overheat. Also, just recently, it started popping out of gear so sometimes you have to slow down and let it pop back in.
You’re probably wondering why I would consider this POS as special. (Or if I just really have a thing for living dangerously.)
Here’s the thing: The Dart has never failed me. Sure, it’s died while I was sitting at a red light, but it always starts up. I might be sweating by the time I get to my destination, but I always get there. My right leg might get a workout pumping the brakes, but I always manage to stop. Plus, when my car (which I love very much) has some trouble, as all cars do, the Dart is there to get me where I need to go.
Even more than its reliability, the Dart has memories. I remember being a kid and driving around with my grandparents to run errands and pretending the hump on the floor of the backseat was a wall that my sister was not allowed to cross. I remember when my mom stalled it and couldn’t get it started again because she flooded the engine and then yelled at me because I was laughing pretty hard. I remember piling the whole basketball team in it to go out to lunch, even though most of my teammates were not supposed to leave campus for lunch.
The Dart is way more than a car on its last legs. It’s a part of my history and my family’s history. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
However, I will be happy when my car is fixed.
Now comes the all-important question: What do I write after having been absent for so many months? Do I write about why I only have one job now? Do I write about the fun phone calls I’ve had to deal with? Do I continue my Jury Duty story that I never did continue? Nope...I feel like this post is going to have to be something easy, much like the first workout after not exercising for a long time. (Yet another post idea…) So, I’m instead going to write about something very near and dear to my heart: the Dart.
The Dart is a 1974 Dodge Dart that is kind of a family heirloom. My grandparents on my dad’s side bought it brand new in 1974. Then, my Aunt Bev drove it out to CSUN for college. Then, my grandparents drove it for many more years before giving it to my dad to update their ride to a pimped out Oldsmobile station wagon(corduroy seats anyone?). My sister then had the pleasure of driving it, and then, it came to me. I drove it almost every single day of my senior year of high school. My dad took it back when I started college and needed something to make the long drive out to Pierce. He drives it everyday to work. Except when my car has trouble and I have to us it.
We don’t have money or jewels to pass down generations, but the Dart is totally priceless.
Now, looking at it, you wouldn’t think much of it. The blue paint has faded and the white canvas top is almost completely gone. The seats are cracked so the padding is showing and the dashboard is not in the greatest shape. In order to open the trunk, you need a screwdriver and a little bit of lock-picking talent. This is all before I mention how my dad keeps every water bottle from the past year in the front seat along with his passes from work, his Thomas Guide, jumper cables, and straws. Plus, the Christmas lights in the back seat he got from General Hospital. (Do we actually need more Christmas lights? No, but the prop department was throwing them out so I must take them!)
Driving it is, well, to put it nicely, an adventure. There is a whole ritual to getting it to start and then you have to keep your foot on the accelerator to keep it from dying. When you need to brake, you have to pump the brakes three times and pray that three times was enough. The heater has to be on at all times so it won’t overheat. Also, just recently, it started popping out of gear so sometimes you have to slow down and let it pop back in.
You’re probably wondering why I would consider this POS as special. (Or if I just really have a thing for living dangerously.)
Here’s the thing: The Dart has never failed me. Sure, it’s died while I was sitting at a red light, but it always starts up. I might be sweating by the time I get to my destination, but I always get there. My right leg might get a workout pumping the brakes, but I always manage to stop. Plus, when my car (which I love very much) has some trouble, as all cars do, the Dart is there to get me where I need to go.
Even more than its reliability, the Dart has memories. I remember being a kid and driving around with my grandparents to run errands and pretending the hump on the floor of the backseat was a wall that my sister was not allowed to cross. I remember when my mom stalled it and couldn’t get it started again because she flooded the engine and then yelled at me because I was laughing pretty hard. I remember piling the whole basketball team in it to go out to lunch, even though most of my teammates were not supposed to leave campus for lunch.
The Dart is way more than a car on its last legs. It’s a part of my history and my family’s history. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
However, I will be happy when my car is fixed.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Jury Duty. Part 1: Death and Karma
Jury Duty is something that every American comes across and must deal with at some point in their lives. Much like death. And, much like death, there is really no good time for Jury Duty. Alos, much like death, you can’t predict when it will come around.
I, like pretty much everyone I’ve ever met, was not at all happy when I got the summons. So, I This way, I rationalized, I was able to get everything set so if I had to go in, it wouldn’t be too destructive. After calling in Saturday to see if I had to report Monday and discovering that I didn’t have to go to court, I thought I was in the clear. I was wrong.
Monday night, prior to a movie night outing with Jason, I called in. “You are required to report to Stanley Mask Courthouse at 7:30 a.m.” NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Even though I had warned my job this might happen, it didn't make it any easier for them. Or me.
So at promptly 7:45 a.m., I walked into the Jurors Assembly Room to a woman explaining how to fill out the 8 questions needed in order to determine our eligibility and ability to be a juror. At promptly 8 a.m., I was falling asleep. On the plus side, I had come prepared with not 1 but 2 books.
During the two hours I was sitting around, I thought a lot about why Jury Duty sucks. First of all, you have to make arrangements with your work just in case you get called in. So, the whole time you’re doing it, it’s a big “IF” hanging over your head. “If” I get called in…”If” I get put on a trial…”If” I lie to try to get out of it and end up in jail for perjury…
Secondly, you get paid less than minimum wage for a system that your tax dollars are funding. If my tax dollars are going in toward this, then why am I not being compensated at least what I would be getting paid if I worked in one of the sweatshops a few blocks away.
Third, the whole process is completely screwed up. It is not a “jury of your peers” if you really think about it. (Now, this is going to sound racist, elitist, and every other “ist” that cause the politically correct to cringe, so I apologize ahead of time.) A jury of my peers would be naturally born Caucasian citizens with college degrees, two married parents, and an open, unbiased mind.
The longer I sat there, however, the more I thought about how I would feel if I were on trial and needed a jury. I would want people just like me on the jury. Not necessarily white and educated, but intelligent and open-minded. I woul”d want 12 “peers who could listen to both sides and see the evidence and make logical, informed, unemotional decisions based on that. I would also want people who understood that while this system is not beneficial in any way towards the jurors, it does allow every person in the US to get an opportunity to be part of the justice system, whether it’s actually serving on a trial or just making that phone call every night until dismissed.
I did get put on a trial and am currently serving. While I may complain about what a pain it is to get downtown and how the days are long and boring and how much money I’m losing by being out of work for 8-10 business days, I am glad I’m doing this. Mainly because my jury karma will be good so hopefully, much like death, I'll only have to go through it once.
I, like pretty much everyone I’ve ever met, was not at all happy when I got the summons. So, I This way, I rationalized, I was able to get everything set so if I had to go in, it wouldn’t be too destructive. After calling in Saturday to see if I had to report Monday and discovering that I didn’t have to go to court, I thought I was in the clear. I was wrong.
Monday night, prior to a movie night outing with Jason, I called in. “You are required to report to Stanley Mask Courthouse at 7:30 a.m.” NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Even though I had warned my job this might happen, it didn't make it any easier for them. Or me.
So at promptly 7:45 a.m., I walked into the Jurors Assembly Room to a woman explaining how to fill out the 8 questions needed in order to determine our eligibility and ability to be a juror. At promptly 8 a.m., I was falling asleep. On the plus side, I had come prepared with not 1 but 2 books.
During the two hours I was sitting around, I thought a lot about why Jury Duty sucks. First of all, you have to make arrangements with your work just in case you get called in. So, the whole time you’re doing it, it’s a big “IF” hanging over your head. “If” I get called in…”If” I get put on a trial…”If” I lie to try to get out of it and end up in jail for perjury…
Secondly, you get paid less than minimum wage for a system that your tax dollars are funding. If my tax dollars are going in toward this, then why am I not being compensated at least what I would be getting paid if I worked in one of the sweatshops a few blocks away.
Third, the whole process is completely screwed up. It is not a “jury of your peers” if you really think about it. (Now, this is going to sound racist, elitist, and every other “ist” that cause the politically correct to cringe, so I apologize ahead of time.) A jury of my peers would be naturally born Caucasian citizens with college degrees, two married parents, and an open, unbiased mind.
The longer I sat there, however, the more I thought about how I would feel if I were on trial and needed a jury. I would want people just like me on the jury. Not necessarily white and educated, but intelligent and open-minded. I woul”d want 12 “peers who could listen to both sides and see the evidence and make logical, informed, unemotional decisions based on that. I would also want people who understood that while this system is not beneficial in any way towards the jurors, it does allow every person in the US to get an opportunity to be part of the justice system, whether it’s actually serving on a trial or just making that phone call every night until dismissed.
I did get put on a trial and am currently serving. While I may complain about what a pain it is to get downtown and how the days are long and boring and how much money I’m losing by being out of work for 8-10 business days, I am glad I’m doing this. Mainly because my jury karma will be good so hopefully, much like death, I'll only have to go through it once.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Happy Birthday Grandma!!!
In honor of my Grandma’s 80th birthday, here are the top 5 things she has taught me:
5. In order for a bed to be made properly, the flat sheet has to be tucked in all the way around. Otherwise, she will make you do it again.
4. Travel is essential to life. (and that the educational/historical stuff is just as important and fun as the actual fun stuff.)
3. Its ok to be two sized bigger on top than you are on the bottom.
2. A Perfect Manhattan is, in fact, Perfect.
1. Family is the strongest bond we have and we need to keep that bond strong, no matter how busy or crazy life gets.
Thank you for all you’ve given me. I am so lucky to have such a wonderful grandmother. I love you and Happy Birthday!
Saturday, January 16, 2010
This is as close to a Thank You note as I'm ever going to get
I am not a serious person.
Nor am I an emotional person.
However, in the past few days, I have been really reflecting and thinking and, well, feeling.
I look at what is going on in Haiti and I can’t help but feel incredibly sad for each and every person there, as well as every person here who has family or friends there. It is a country where there was so much turmoil before this huge earthquake, and now it is just in shambles. Food can’t be given out because of near-riots. Medical workers are being evacuated because of threats of violence. Rescue workers are not even able to get to the island because the airport and dock have been destroyed. Orphans are sleeping on the street because the orphanages are too dangerous to be in. Paperwork for these orphans is completely lost and, thus, these children don’t even exist. There is no clean water for people to drink. People are dying from diseases that we not only have cures for, but are what we consider minor. Mass graves are being built because there is nowhere to put these bodies and there is no way to find out who they are. People are missing, starving, and dying. It is so heartbreaking and, unfortunately, there is only so much we can do.
As I sit here, all I can do is be thankful for everything I have. I live in a country where our government is stable enough to live through natural disasters and tragedies. I have family and friends whom I love and who love me. I have 2 jobs that I complain a lot about but allow me the small luxuries in life. I have my health, and my life. I have never felt so grateful for everything I have. I find myself worrying less about the small annoyances and just being appreciative.
Thank you to every single member of my family and every single one of my friends for being so amazing. I know I make a lot of jokes and I complain a lot, but from the bottom of my heart, each and everyone of you means more to me than I could every express in words.
Thank you.
Nor am I an emotional person.
However, in the past few days, I have been really reflecting and thinking and, well, feeling.
I look at what is going on in Haiti and I can’t help but feel incredibly sad for each and every person there, as well as every person here who has family or friends there. It is a country where there was so much turmoil before this huge earthquake, and now it is just in shambles. Food can’t be given out because of near-riots. Medical workers are being evacuated because of threats of violence. Rescue workers are not even able to get to the island because the airport and dock have been destroyed. Orphans are sleeping on the street because the orphanages are too dangerous to be in. Paperwork for these orphans is completely lost and, thus, these children don’t even exist. There is no clean water for people to drink. People are dying from diseases that we not only have cures for, but are what we consider minor. Mass graves are being built because there is nowhere to put these bodies and there is no way to find out who they are. People are missing, starving, and dying. It is so heartbreaking and, unfortunately, there is only so much we can do.
As I sit here, all I can do is be thankful for everything I have. I live in a country where our government is stable enough to live through natural disasters and tragedies. I have family and friends whom I love and who love me. I have 2 jobs that I complain a lot about but allow me the small luxuries in life. I have my health, and my life. I have never felt so grateful for everything I have. I find myself worrying less about the small annoyances and just being appreciative.
Thank you to every single member of my family and every single one of my friends for being so amazing. I know I make a lot of jokes and I complain a lot, but from the bottom of my heart, each and everyone of you means more to me than I could every express in words.
Thank you.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Empire State of Embarassment
Since I have nothing interesting that is going on right now, I will share an embarrassing story. And yes, there is a point to why I am sharing this story.
It was my first trip to NY and, being from Los Angeles, I had never ridden public transportation before. Yes, people in LA really don’t take the bus unless they absolutely have to. Even then, they usually find someone else to give them a lift. Therefore, a subway turnstile is not something I had ever needed to conquer before.
I decided that best course of action was to just follow what everyone else it doing. It looked simple enough. Swipe your Metrocard(which I had already purchased on my very own, thank you very much!), proceed through to the train. Easy and painless.
Not for Kimmi.
It was a busy day so I knew that I had to move my ass. I walked quickly down the subway with the rest of crowd and pulled out my Metrocard to make sure that I was ready to go. I did not, however, check to make sure that my Metrocard was facing the right direction. So, when I got to the turnstile, I swiped my card like a true New Yorker and then ran directly into the turnstile, so hard that I almost went over it to the other side. (I wonder if that could be considered jumping the turnstile?) Not only did I have a bruise forming on my upper thigh(Yes, I am that tall), but I had angry, pissed off, loud businessmen yelling at me to get out of the way.
I managed to get my Metrocard turned around and get through the turnstile, but I will never forget how it felt to think that I was doing so well and to be knocked down to reality.
Now, what was the point of my sharing this little story? I have since developed a great love for public transportation and have not had an incident like this again. (At least not while sober) However, this Thanksgiving, there is a chance for a repeat. I have been living back in LA for almost 2 years and have not had to navigate public transportation in a long time. Basically, this is all a long winded way of saying that I am going to be in NY to spend Thanksgiving with my sister-from-another-mister! Now October just needs to hurry up and pass…
It was my first trip to NY and, being from Los Angeles, I had never ridden public transportation before. Yes, people in LA really don’t take the bus unless they absolutely have to. Even then, they usually find someone else to give them a lift. Therefore, a subway turnstile is not something I had ever needed to conquer before.
I decided that best course of action was to just follow what everyone else it doing. It looked simple enough. Swipe your Metrocard(which I had already purchased on my very own, thank you very much!), proceed through to the train. Easy and painless.
Not for Kimmi.
It was a busy day so I knew that I had to move my ass. I walked quickly down the subway with the rest of crowd and pulled out my Metrocard to make sure that I was ready to go. I did not, however, check to make sure that my Metrocard was facing the right direction. So, when I got to the turnstile, I swiped my card like a true New Yorker and then ran directly into the turnstile, so hard that I almost went over it to the other side. (I wonder if that could be considered jumping the turnstile?) Not only did I have a bruise forming on my upper thigh(Yes, I am that tall), but I had angry, pissed off, loud businessmen yelling at me to get out of the way.
I managed to get my Metrocard turned around and get through the turnstile, but I will never forget how it felt to think that I was doing so well and to be knocked down to reality.
Now, what was the point of my sharing this little story? I have since developed a great love for public transportation and have not had an incident like this again. (At least not while sober) However, this Thanksgiving, there is a chance for a repeat. I have been living back in LA for almost 2 years and have not had to navigate public transportation in a long time. Basically, this is all a long winded way of saying that I am going to be in NY to spend Thanksgiving with my sister-from-another-mister! Now October just needs to hurry up and pass…
Friday, September 25, 2009
It's all Mervyn LeRoy's fault...
I have had a somewhat irrational fear of birds for as long as I can remember. People always ask me where it comes from. Was I attacked by a bird when I was a kid? Did I watch The Birds too many times? I have never been able to pinpoint exactly where this phobia came from...until the other night.
I went to see The Wizard of Oz on the big screen, which was all kinds of awesome that I can't even begin to describe. I have seen this movie so many times that I could probably do the entire thing, word-for-word. I was sitting there and I was just like a child. I even managed to turn off my analytical brain so I wouldn't think about all the ways in which scenes could be viewed as offensive. It was great.
It came to the part in the enchanted forest, when the witch sends the winged monkeys to get Dorothy, and I felt the familiar sense of fear I feel every time I see a pigeon near me when I sit outside at a cafe. My heart rate goes up, my face gets hot, and I have a feeling that I should go the other way.
I couldn't believe it. My favorite movie of all time has caused one of my silliest phobias. The funniest part about it is that they weren't even birds!
Maybe now that I've figured out where this fear comes from, I'll be able to eat outside again without the fear of being attacked by crows who mistake me for a piece of bread and poke my eyeballs out.
Maybe not....
I went to see The Wizard of Oz on the big screen, which was all kinds of awesome that I can't even begin to describe. I have seen this movie so many times that I could probably do the entire thing, word-for-word. I was sitting there and I was just like a child. I even managed to turn off my analytical brain so I wouldn't think about all the ways in which scenes could be viewed as offensive. It was great.
It came to the part in the enchanted forest, when the witch sends the winged monkeys to get Dorothy, and I felt the familiar sense of fear I feel every time I see a pigeon near me when I sit outside at a cafe. My heart rate goes up, my face gets hot, and I have a feeling that I should go the other way.
I couldn't believe it. My favorite movie of all time has caused one of my silliest phobias. The funniest part about it is that they weren't even birds!
Maybe now that I've figured out where this fear comes from, I'll be able to eat outside again without the fear of being attacked by crows who mistake me for a piece of bread and poke my eyeballs out.
Maybe not....
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