Sigh...

I had a nice evening of catching up on email, writing a new post for the Den, and working on a cover letter for an agent, but my computer, my darling little G3 iBook will not turn on. Yes, it's plugged in. It just won't turn on. Not even the ubiquitous chimes of doom. Just a black and silent screen.

I'm using Dave's computer for a few minutes, but he needs it to work on his own project. So my evening plans are crushed. Wah.

However, I am finished with the CHILL rewrites. You know, the ones I've been whining and/or bitching about for the last three months or so? Yup, finished. I am quietly ecstatic about it. I'd be loudly ecstatic if my iBook worked. As is, I'm balancing the ecstasy of completion with the fear that my computer is about to cost me a buttload of money. A J-Lo butt, not some little heroin chic model sized butt.

Dang me.

Ah well, time to turn over the G4 to its rightful owner and try not to feel resentment as Dave writes on his WORKING iBook.

I will console myself with SPACE SEED and Ricardo Montalban in all his Khanish glory.

To quote Lt. MgGyver..."Magnificent."

Drooool...

Hao Wu - still no word

I'm reposting something that I put up in March - for those new readers to my blog, please read this, check out the links, put up a technorati tag, get involved. Hao Wu is still being detained and his family and friends have had no word as to his whereabouts or health. Here's my original post:

FREE HAO WU

I've read a lot about people in police states or oppressive countries getting carted off by secret police or detained unfairly. But it always seemed very distant and improbable until it happened to a friend of my sister's. Hao Wu, a Chinese documentary filmmaker, is being detained (a polite way to say 'arrested and jailed') by the Chinese authorities. The reason for his detention is as yet unknown. His friends and families have asked bloggers to spread the word to get global support and media attention in order to facilitate Hao's release.

Lisa wrote about it on her blog, so please check out her post. It's a lot more meaningful and personal than anything I can say. For more information on how you can help, go here.

technorati tags: freehaowu

http://ethanzuckerman.com/haowu/

posted by zhadi @ 4:03 PM 0 comments

A Confession

Someone made a comment on my previous post about Darklight, correcting an error I made concerning the last name of an actor, John Delancie. I've changed the last name (I'd put Lassiter 'cause...well, it sounded right at the time), but I do have a confession to make.

I may totally lose geek points on this, given my love for horror and sci-fi movies and shows, but... I don't like Star Trek, Generation. I don't like particularly like Deep Space Nine or Enterprise or any of the shows set in the Star Trek Universe.

I like OLD Star Trek. Classic Trek. William Shatner, with his ever-shifting weight, horn-dog mentality, and inprobable pauses Star Trek. And that's it.

Oh, I make exceptions for particular episodes. The Trouble With Tribbles revisited episode on...er...whichever show it was, was funny as hell. It had the spirit of Classic Trek. Or the Degeneration episode that had the Enterprise in an alternate universe where Tasha Yar didn't get killed by the gelatinous blob, and Captain Picard actually made some ballsy decisions that may just have violated the Prime Directive and DIDN'T involve the fucking holodeck.

Yes. I'm a purist. And proud of it.

Nyah, Jen!

Also...please ignore the sentence in my previous post (she has no memory behind three years previous) as it's a very poorly constructed sentence. I was tired...the sun was in my eyes...my cat ate my homework...and then spat it back up in a hairball on my computer.

IT'S NOT MY FAULT!

Sci Fi Channel does it again...

I'm continually confounded by Sci Fi Channel's depth of craptitude. Last night we caught a little bit of Darklight, which includes a Demonicus (a scientist trying to obtain immortality goes OH so wrong...helped by the dude that played Q on Star Trek, Degeneration, John Delancie)and battles it out with Lilith, or the descendent thereof.

Said descendent, who has no idea who she is (she has no memory behind three years previous) comes equipped with a brand-spanking new looking parchment book on demonology (you think they'd have made half an effort to distress the book so it looked at least semi-ancient instead of something you'd buy at your local Psychic Eye bookstore), including a chapter on demon marks. There's a handy dandy little pen and ink sketch below that particular chapter header. Our heroine (an insipid little thing that comes from the same cloning vat that stocks at least half of Sci-Fi Channel films; the other vat spits out improbably large breasted blondes with an equal lack of acting ability) looks at the drawing, then looks down at her arm where she sports (*gasp!!!*) the SAME MARK in one inch raised letters on her left arm. Seriously, these things look like those little plastic letters that kids use with magnetic boards in kindergarten to learn their alphabet. She can get rid of the evil Mark of Lilith and curse attached to it one letter/symbol at a time by doing acts of great and noble self-sacrifice.

We see this put into action when she shoves a kid out of the way of an oncoming car. She gets hit, goes flying into the streets, another car veers to miss her, hits the first car and both burst into flames. Great roiling clouds of flame and smoke. Interestingly enough, no one is injured, just a littled singed around the edges. Okay. And our heroine, after lying in the middle of the conflagration, does develop a wee bit of a cough that sounds like she's auditioning for the part of Camille ("carry me to the window one last time!")

Give me a break...

Another bad filmmaking moment: heroine goes to her home and finds the kindly old man who took her in off the streets lying on the kitchen floor, covered in blood and looking pretty shredded. She stares at him in horror. his eyes open. He says "Run!" Suddenly the Demonicus appears in the shot, right next to the guy on the floor, where it's evidently been crouched during this entire scene. Sloppy camera work and direction. Like she wouldn't have notice this large winged demon with blood dripping from its claws hunkered down next to the guy when she first walked in. Having it on the ceiling or something, have her follow the guy's gaze to it...that would have worked.

Ptooey on lazy filmmakers.

The hero was that dude from Starship Troopers II, the one that looks like the result of Richard Hatch, Michael Ironside and John Saxon getting cozy in a transmogrifyer. Eh. I lost interest very quickly, partly 'cause I really needed some sleep and partly 'cause it was neither bad enough nor good enough to enjoy. It was somewhere in the limbo of boring and irritating.

I'm saving myself for Shark Attack 3; Megladon.

Click and Comment

Okay...I'm trying to add something from a blog recommended by my favorite blogger, Mr. Fabulous. Not sure if I've done this right...but let's see. I need to add to my blog roll, that's for damn sure...

On Mondays, Cat has Click & Comment Day. She posted this to remind you how important it is to comment on other blogs. It truly DOES increase your readership and you most often gain regulars that will visit your blog day after day.

What I encourage is for you to click my renter. Then, you comment on the blog and click their renter or someone on their blogroll. Then you comment on that blog and click their renter or someone on their blogroll. Do this for as many blogs as you can. Sometimes they go full circle, and you end up at the originating blog, then just look up a blog in the blogroll and start the cycle again.

So, let’s get started! Comment here and I’ll either add your name and link to my post or use an auto-link program and let you add your own.

I really encourage you to do this at least to 5 comments if you have ANY time at all. It will give you the joy of sharing a few of your opinions on posts and bring you future readers.

Thanks and enjoy Click & Comment Day!

Are you posting Click & Comment on your blog? Add your name to the list with a link to your blog and I’ll come visit. If you do this you not only gain links but new blog-friends as well.

Enjoy! I’m going to try to do this each Monday. Why not start your week off right?

Just when you thought it was safe to turn on Sci-Fi Channel...

Okay, it's NEVER safe to turn on Sci-Fi Channel. They are the home of craptitude. Truly bad 'original' movies. The definition of 'original' has evidently mutated to include derivative pieces of cinematic poo, like COBRA. KOMODO. CURSE OF THE KOMODO. PYTHON. PYTHON VERSUS COBRA. And now...KOMODO VERSUS COBRA.

Ah me...for a connoisseur of bad movies, Sci-Fi Channel is the motherlode of bad fun. KOMODO VERSUS COBRA was no exception, and I only saw the last half hour.

Premise: A news team headed by a famous anchorwoman (played by SURVIVOR villainous Jerri) and a group of environmentalists (led by 20 somethings I've never heard of) charter a boat (captained by Michael Pare, of STREETS OF FIRE and cocaine addiction fame) to an island where a group of scientists (headed by a 20 something 'beautiful scientist' who looks as though she just MIGHT have graduated from high school, but there's no way in hell she's gotten a Master's Degree) have created a DNA mutation that makes little things get big.

Viagra, eat your heart out.

Anyway, little cobras are now 40 feet long. Little komodo dragons are the size of dinosaurs. And leaches are about a foot long and shaped like a wrinkly albino carrot. We learn this when three of 'em attach themselves to the young and annoying male environmentalist's back. He's now possibly infected by this DNA mutation. Will he grow bigger? His girlfriend seems oblivious to the possibilities. She's concerned about his fever, the fact that he's 'not doing well.' At least not according to the beautiful female scientist.

They have to hike across this island to a plateau on the highest possible summit, requiring a grueling climb (which we don't see) . The filmmaker tries to generate tension by indicating that the leeched environmentalist can't possibly make the climb. Michael Pare says 'he'll make it. I'll help him.' And proceeds to haul him along, while not bothering to take the environmentalist's backpack, which has got to be irritating the hell out of those leech wounds.

Oh well, this is Sci Fi Channel. We don't ask for logic. We ask for scintillating dialogue like:

Beautiful Scientist: It's funny. The last time I was on a beach was a party when I was in college.

Michael Pare: (pause) Sounds like a good time.

Beautiful Scientist: (longer pause) It was.

Cut to other characters for at least five minutes. Back to Michael and jailbait scientist.

Beautiful Scientist: Were you ever in college? (Making us wonder what the hell they were talking about for the last five minutes).

Doesn't anyone even TRY to write decent dialogue in these things?

And, since it's Sci-Fi Channel, swearing ain't allowed. I'll give this movie points for goofy originality because instead of over-dubbing replacement words for 'shit' and 'bitch', they just inserted a convenient jungle animal squawk over the naughty word in question. Kind of a cross between a monkey, a parrot, and a very squeaky door. At no other time do we actually hear this particular noise, say, when they're hiking through the jungle or sitting by a fire. Nope, only when a character swears. Who would have thunk jungle beasties would be so censorious?

My favorite part is the climax (I'm being very kind here) when Michael Pare, Beautiful Scientist, now dead Environmentalist's girlfriend, and anchorwoman, are in the helicopter, which Just. Won't. Start. As the komodo and the cobra battle it out (I guess they had to justify the title) in a badly choreographed clash of CGI titans, Michael jumps out of the helicopter while the girls scream, runs over to a panel, opens it... and flicks a switch that might very well have said "Off/On." Kind of like the Krusty the Clown doll in the Simpsons that was set on Evil instead of Good.

Whatever.

I'm now watching SABRE TOOTH. It at least has the virtue of starring the sexy actor who plays Sawyer in LOST, as well as that 'I'm just picking up a paycheck' whore, John Rhys Davis. And some woman with enough collagen to make her lips viable as a pillow. And a badly CGI'd sabre tooth. You can see these actors trying their best. And it's definitely better than KOMODO VERSUS COBRA.

And with that ringing endorsement, I'm gonna go to bed now...

Glass Half Full

I think my attitude is definitely improving. I had, while not precisely a wardrobe malfunction this morning, a definite crimp in my choice of outfit when the dress I wanted to wear proved to be just a little too tight through the hips and waist. It looked nice. Not tight enough to be considered hootchie-mama. Just tight enough, especially when I sat down, to make me realize that if I wore it for eight hours, I'd be a cranky bitch.

A really cranky bitch with low blood sugar. I knew I wouldn't eat to compensate for the constant reminder of ungiving fabric around my tummy reminding me that yes, there was a bit of a tummy there instead of flat Billy Blank tae-bo abs.

Did I rip the dress off over my head in a hysterical frenzy? No. I announced very calmly to three of my cats and my half-asleep boyfriend that I'd be miserable if I wore the dress, took it off and placed it neatly on a chest before choosing a more comfortable wardrobe option.

The top I picked, while not stinky pits ripe, was slightly redolent of sweaty Dana. I was running late by this time, so I spritzed it with some lavender scented linen spray. Unfortunately I did this while I was wearing it. Lavender linen spray stings. A lot. But I smell Grandma perfumey fresh.

My point here is that the Dana of last week would have ripped the seams of the dress in her self-disgust, stomped on it...then worn it anyway and fixed the seams at work. This week's Dana saved herself the fun of threading a needle with rapidly deteriorating close-up vision and didn't scare her cats or her boyfriend with a temper tantrum.

Instead of looking at myself as overweight, I see my dress as just a little too tight. Which is just enough incentive to get me up at 5:30 tomorrow morning for a visit with Billy and his ultimate abs.

Ah, Billy Blank...is there nothing your tae-bo workouts won't fix?

Weekend Reunion, Part Deux, FINALLY!

I picked Judy and Debbie up at the Daly City Bart station Saturday morning. Debbie was recovering from a wee bit o' hangover, while Judy felt fine. She'd calculate the amount of wine we'd had Friday and figured that it was fine because, after all, we'd split it between six of us.

So...that would be me, Dave, Debbie, Judy...and Judy's two invisible friends.

Um...and Debbie had the hangover?

We set off across the Golden Gate Bridge towards Mendocino. Our agenda for the day was a trip to Glass Beach (see my February archives for my visit there) and then a meandering return through the Anderson Valley wineries. First stop, however, was Starbucks in San Rafael for necessary caffeinated fuel and something to snack on. Did you know that Starbucks has new breakfast sandwiches? Dang me if they're not really tasty!

We had a three hour drive ahead of us and all of it was filled with conversation, still catching up with the last 15 or so years of each other's lives. Debbie had recently moved with her family (two kids and her husband, Peter) to to Bainbridge Island in Washington, a huge move. They'd recently lost their house in Script's Ranch to a fire...ironically not the wildfire which destroyed acres of land and houses in San Diego County a year before, but a random accident that burned most of their belongings and gutted their house.

Even without something as traumatic as a fire, the move would still be difficult. I speak from experience. No friends, no family for support. Not that the kids and the husband don't count. They do. But still, it's a tough transition. I so relate to that.

Judy is facing a possible move to L.A. because of her husband's job. She currently has a job at a non-profit organization that she loves, they have a little house in Pacific Beach, and a good life. The move would be good for the husband's career...but not necessarily a improvement for their quality of life as a family.

I listened to all of this and, as usual, shot off my mouth with my opinions. I'll spare you my take on things, but I will say that I was flattered that my opinion mattered at all...and that both Judy and Debbie felt comfortable enough and trusted me to share things with me. I do, btw, have permission to write about everything I've mentioned so far. You don't take a gift like getting two good friends back in your life and use their lives as blog fodder without their consent.

Glass Beach was everything I'd promised. A beach. Glass. Lots of both. Debbie and Judy happily plopped down in likely looking spots and began foraging for treasure. I kept running my fingers through the mounds of glass and saying 'Arr....treasure, it be....arrrrrr!' After being made fun of my boyfriend and Jen the last time I went there for my beach glass fixation, it was gratifiying to watch Judy and Debbie single-mindedly dig through piles of shells and glass, picking out choice pieces and succumbing to the hypnotic sway of Glass Beach. We spent 45 minutes collecting pieces of glass worn smooth by the ocean, stopping only when our bladders decreed it was time to go. And the fact that we were running out of time to wine taste.

We stopped at Roederer first...champagne. Yummy. Judy took over as designated driver (thank you, Judy'!) with the promise that we'd take back some liquid booty from Anderson Valley and share it that evening. I bought a bottle of Roederer rose for the evening.

Next stop...Navarro. Been there? Oh, you really should...between their pinot noirs and amazing zinfandel, gorgeous picnic grounds with flowering gardens and pastoral views, it's well worth the trip. Judy bought some salami, bread and stinky cheese (it tasted great, but smelled like belly button lint) to have for lunch. We settled at a picnic table and enjoyed a mini-feast after tasting and buying. Judy got a bottle of the zinfandel to add to the evening's festivities.

Brutocao, my personal favorite winery, was the next stop. Their red wines are to die for. They range from a red table wine (Bella Lona School House red) to consistantly delicious zinfandels, cabernets and merlots (yes, their merlots are good, you snobs!), and they've added Dolcetto, Quadrigo and other Italian style blends to their roster. All good. All well priced. Debbie bought some School House red as her contribution to our evening's debauch. After all, we could invite Judy's invisible friends along.

Judy was an excellent designated driver (I'm not a very good passenger in my own car, btw) and we made it home by 7:00 and ordered pizza. I pulled out my old photos from high school and we spent several hours looking at our former selves and wondering why our mutual self-esteems were so damn low back then. As I mentioned in my first blog on our reunion, hearing Judy and Debbie's view of me back in high school was, to use an old Trekkie term, definitely a pat on the ass for my ego-boo. So funny how our friends saw us as opposed to how we saw ourselves.

I found a picture of Debbie that I'd taken one evening we decided to play dress-up in some of my slinky costume vampy dresses. And she felt insecure? Jeez louise, the shit that we women put ourselves through for no reason...and Debbie, you're supposed to scan that and send it back...remember?

I'm hoping to scan some of my old photos and put 'em up on my blog. Judy, you need to send me pictures of Debbie's wedding shower...or do I need to be nagging Debbie about that?

Anyway, we looked at pictures, reminisced, ate pizza, drank some amazing wine, and had a wonderful evening. All 18 of us, right, Judy?

Sunday morning we went to breakfast at the Bashful Bull, a diner two blocks from our house. Then we went for a long walk on Ocean Beach, continued conversations started the day before. I'd tell you about them, but then I'd have to kill you. Some things between friends are told in confidence and stay that way. Until such time they tell me I can write about 'em. Then I'll spill the beans.

Not much else to say...other than if you're gonna have a reunion with old friends, I hope that yours is as good as this one. Just watch those invisible friends 'cause they can drink a hell fo a lot of wine.

So Far This Week

My refund check from the IRS came in the mail, I finished the latest batch of rewrites on CHILL with nary a grumble during the writing session, my wardrobe is holding, and I was just told that they're gonna offer me the job here!

Happy Dana!

Other news, my boyfriend Dave Fitzgerald has finally written something his blog. His friend put it together for him a few months ago...and there it languished, no posts, no profile...just a picture and a justifiably snarky comments about his prolific blogging. I'm not expecting him to post too often as he's nearing the home stretch (forgive the sports metaphor) on the first draft of his book. But at least there's info in there now, so check it out!

I'm gonna get my butt in gear and write the promised post tonight. I realize this gives new meaning to talking (or writing) out of one's ass, but whatever gets the job done...

OKAY...

It was another zipper this morning. A top I've never worn. The zipper kept opening whenever I...well, whenever I moved. Not even a TIGHT top. Just one of those zippers that would rather be open than shut. So I pinned the damn thing with a little silver kitty in a spacesuit pin.

What is it with my clothing this week?

I know, I know, I promised more weekend reunion...and I will keep that promise. But I felt I should give closure in terms of my wardrobe malfunctions.

Not a button today...

It was the zipper on my skirt.

Seriously.

And it's not like this is a tight skirt. I wear it all the time for that very reason. No, the zipper had just reached the point where the teeth lose their grip and start separating. It starts at the bottom and works its way up till there's a nice gap instead of a closed zipper, the color of my g-string exposed for the world to see.

Ah well, I handled the zipper incident much better than I did the button popping of yesterday. I just pulled the zip part down and back up again, pulled my shirt down over it and hoped for the best. It held till I settled back in my seat on the Muni, then slowly separated once more. Luckily I was wearing a jacket that covered most of my butt, allowing me to walk the three blocks to work without showing off my undie color choice when I got off the train.

A few stitches with some buttonhole thread and my skirt is once again secure. But I'm wondering what tomorrow's wardrobe disaster will be. I'm tempted to wear something with no buttons, zippers or closures of any sort, but that's just asking for a seam to give, ain't it?

The irony of both these incidents is that I've started getting up at 5:30 each morning to do my tae-bo workout so I'll have more time in the evenings for writing and relaxation. I'm supposed to be feeling thinner here, not like Miss Fatty Bulge Butt, who can pop buttons and rend zippers with one deep breath.

Ah well. Next post will be about my lovely weekend reunion. I've kept Debbie and Judy waiting long enough!

Popping a button

This morning a button popped off the top of my dress when I bent down to pick something up and I went ballistic. Normally losing a button, while irritating, wouldn't send me into a homicidal frenzy. I'd either fix it on the spot or pick something else to wear. This morning, however, I shrieked loudly enough to scare all seven cats, ripped the rest of the buttons off the dress when I pulled it off, and flung it in a corner, all the while screaming 'I HATE BEING OVERWEIGHT!' Dave did his best to calm me down, but there's really nothing you can do except wait it out, let all the pent up fury and energy dissipate. Which it did, leaving me with a sense of self-loathing and depression that lasted all morning because not only had I scared my babies, but I'd interrupted Dave's writing time. And who wants to deal with a crazy woman?

For me, it's almost always the small things that make me explode. Generally that's because I'm dealing with a lot of major issues that create a bucketload of stress. The kind of stress that lurks beneath the surface 24/7. Even when I'm in a good mood, it's there. Lurking like some malevolent Irish water fairy, waiting to drag unsuspecting passerbyes to their doom.

Dooooom! (insert Grandpa Simpson voice there).


For instance, I'm so fucking sick of my job situation, not knowing when or even IF the axe is gonna fall. Feeling like a benchwarmer for someone else who can't be bothered to give a firm commitment. This person is evidently so amazing that any amount of time is okay to wait for them to decide. And I'm just left dangling, every day of uncertainty fraying away the nerves.

I like my job. I like the people. I'm good at what I do and I'd like to keep doing it where I am. I've proven myself, but the feeling that no matter how hard I work, no matter how good I am, it doesn't matter. Because this other person will always be better. More professionally desirable.

It sucks.

And then those rewrites...ah yes, the rewrites. I guess I still have a certain amount of faith in actually seeing a paycheck from this round because I keep on going, like a resentful energizer bunny. But still...more uncertainty. Waiting for someone else to read the script and say 'well, we'd like you to make THESE changes before we make any decisions.' Going through this yet again without really knowing if I'll ever see a dime from it.

I don't write with expectations of getting paid. I write because I enjoy it. And I even take pride in my ability to make things work, no matter how I feel about some of the changes. I'll dig in my heels when I disagree with something so violently that I'm willing to make a stand. I'm pretty stubborn when I want to be. And I pride myself on digging in my heels in a NICE way. I've yet to tell someone that their ideas suck the cosmic wang, even when they do. But there are times you have to compromise or just suck it up and make changes that you know are just wrong. And the only thing that makes it bearable is a paycheck.

So lots of uncertainty in my life. Doing my best to keep a good face at work and continue to do a good job. Trying to make sure that whatever changes I make to the script, whether I like them or not, are done to the best of my ability and (as much as possible) are true to the original story. Really wanting to visit San Diego, see my family and my best friend, Mo, yet not having the time or money to do so. No paid time off, y'see. Let's just add that to the resentment at the job situation.

The thing I resent most, though, is being in a state where a button popping off, be it literal or metaphorical, can turn me into a self-loathing loony. And wondering when the other shoe is gonna drop. Or the next button's gonna pop.

Dropping in...

..and speeding back out just as fact. Pathetic to be a hit and run visitor to my own blog! I have to finish my weekend reunion post (yes, Debbie, I DID read your comments), but between a weird stomach bug (if you've seen TEAM AMERICA, just imagine the puppet puke scene and you have my Thursday night), a trip to Humboldt (luckily recovered enough to eat crab and oysters), those damnable CHILL rewrites (we hates them, we does, precious!) and a foray back into the land of Ebay selling to earn some extra cash for the equally damnable debt (we hates them even MORE...we kills them, we does!), my blogging brain has been set on sleep mode.

The worst part is that I really have been craving the writing. But though there's a desire, the will to stay up late enough to work on it beyond figuring out the where's and why-fores of windigos (a cannibalistic Ojibwa forest demon, if you're wondering what I'm talking about)...not a lot of energy left. But I'll get there...and I'll tae-bo every day too! And unpack the rest of my boxes! And find a cure for cancer!!! And...and...I'll...I'll...*snore*...

excuse me. It's past my bedtime.

Weekend Reunion, Part One

You ever have one of those get-togethers with friends from high school or college and it's just all awkward and strange, and you really can't quite remember why you were friends in the first place?

Judy, Moi & Debbie, doing a VERY lazy Charlie's Angels pose.

This wasn't one of those reunions.

I hadn't seen Judy or Debbie since the mid '80s, probably going on 20 years. And I hadn't seen the two of them together since Debbie's wedding. Judy and I were pink clad bridesmaids for the occasion, held at the Hotel Del Coronado.

Judy and I met in junior high. We did a dramatic reinactment of the scene in The Three Musketeers where D'artagnan first meets Rochefort and Milady. I was Milady, wearing a dress that Judy helped me sew for the occasion (my very first costume and I still have it) and Judy was D'artagnan, complete with pink satin breeches and wig. Debbie was a year ahead of us and I think that we met through my sister 'cause they were in Drama together. Hey, it's been years, folks!

But what I DO remember is that the three of us got along really well. And when Debbie and Judy showed up at the Hidden Vine winebar Friday night, it was obvious in the first five minutes that nothing had changed in that regard. After hugs and 'Oh MY GOD, you haven't CHANGED!' (and they really haven't...it's kinda scary. What I call the Dorian Gray syndrome) were exchanged, we settled down to some serious walks down memory lane, accompanied by an Alsace Cremant bubbly, some luscious Oregon Pinot Noir, and the amused/bemused smile on Dave's face as he listened to us compare notes on who we still were in contact with from the old days, who we liked, who we thought were bitches (that would be Caroline F., Jeanne C., and a few other assorted women with low self-esteem who seemed to thrive only when making someone else feel like shit), and assorted other topics. All of this was accompanied by the sort of raucous giggling and noise and loud voices that make you either want to join a group 'cause they're having so much fun, or shoot them so they'll just shut up.

We touched lightly on a lot of subjects, but didn't delve too deeply into any one of them. After all, this was giddy catch up time, glossing over as many topics as possible to lay the base for the next day, when it would just be us girls with a three hour drive to Glass Beach in Mendocino, a drive that would give us ample opportunity to get into the really SERIOUS stuff. After all, we didn't want to bore Dave. Right, girls?

Right.

I don't think he was bored. At the very least, he was given insight into his beloved's teenage years. I got some insight myself, actually, at least as far as how my friends viewed me back in the day. Gotta say that the ego boost was extreme, with the words 'gorgeous', 'stunning' and other nice things bandied about.

And they were talking about a time BEFORE I turned into a walking ego who assumed that everyone thought I was the cutest trick in shoe leather (to more or less quote Rhett Butler - I'm too lazy to look up the exact phrase right now).

I was actually very shy in Junior High and the first year of High School. The shyness was usually interpreted as stuck up. And even when I graduated from 'shy' to 'reserved, with some idea that I wasn't butt ugly,' I was still fairly slow when it came to things like flirting and dating. I was a drama student, comfortable on stage, but still a little awkward in my own skin. So to find out that I was perceived as 'quite the presence' in high school was, to say the least, about as flattering a perception as I could want.

Debbie and Judy were also self-esteemed challenged when they were in high school. Both amazingly intelligent, cute as hell, but, like myself, kind of geeky. We were Star Trek fans, okay? We attend STAR meetings. At least, Judy and I did. I can't remember if Debbie hung with the faux pointed ear crowd or not.

Speaking of which, I'm watching Star Trek as I write this. The Cage. Captain Pike. The original green-skinned Orion animal woman episode, dammit! While I like Captain Pike, he just ain't Captain James Tiberius Kirk. He would have been all OVER Veena. Call me old fashioned, but I like my starship captains horny and shameless. I would have made a great Captain's Woman in Mirror Mirror, by thunder. But I wonder if I would have had a beard and mustache like Spock...

Ahem.

I digress.

At any rate, we ended Friday night on a slightly tipsy, but totally respectable note. Debbie and Judy headed back to their hotel, while Dave and I caught the L Taravel line home. The plan for Saturday morning was for Judy and Debbie to catch the BART to Daly City, where I would pick them up and the three of us would head out on our trip to Glass Beach. They'd call me when they were headed out of the hotel. Just not before 7:00.