Blue Moon Musings

If I'm correct, then tonight is the second full moon for the month of May -- a blue moon, if you will. About four months ago (yes, on the full moon in February), I was driving home after getting my nails "did" -- I was alert, not on the phone and not driving over the speed limit -- when a dweeb hit my car. It was totally his fault and he admitted it. Oh, did I mention he was driving a rental car and had no insurance? He was nervous and apologizing profusely and promised to pay for the repairs to my car, which are estimated at $1400. I stupidly didn't take down the tag number of the car he was driving, figuring there was really nothing I could do but have faith in the guy's trustworthiness.

I should've known something was wrong when he didn't wire me the money when he said he would, then kept texting me from London that he was having some sort of inopportune financial "crisis" and couldn't pay, even though he wanted to. This went on for months, until I decided to get my insurance involved (more on his response here). Then I found out that I was responsible for a $500 deductible, which my insurance company would try to recoup from either him or the rental company's insurance. Michael Holt, the guy, promptly stopped replying to emails and answering his phone once insurance got involved. Then, he conveniently shut down the website of his company (he's a commercial director), Heaven Films, so his email address was gone.

So, my car is still wrecked while I try to scrape together the cash to cover my deductible so I can get my car repaired. In the meantime, I submitted a request to the CA DMV to get Mr. Holt's information, so I could work on recouping my expenses from him -- maybe by taking him to small claims court. I received a phone call today from them -- seems the CA driver license info that Mr. Holt (or whatever his name is) gave me is incorrect. Figures. Now all I have for him is a cell phone number - 1.800.963.0093, and the source of his text messages from the UK - +447942216680. But, he's probably gotten rid of those too.

So, I'm back to square zero, while he's out there on the road, flitting around L.A. or the U.K, doing whatever it is that he does, making himself a bigger target when it finally comes time for him to pay the karma police. I wish him luck. He'll need it.

No, I'm not bitter. Not in the least.

No Train, No Gain

Ten or so weeks ago, I was gung-ho about entering and training for the Danskin Women's Triathlon. I was stoked to learn how to use my clip-in bike shoes and to get to the next level with my swimming. The run point is moot since my back can no longer take the beating and my race-walking is just fine. But, I was motivated.

Cut to now: I did one semi-successful solo bike ride in Griffith Park and two spin classes; a handful of swim lessons and workouts, but I realized that's far from ample preparation for a race. So, when a former co-worker (and first-time triathlete who I convinced to sign up for the race) checked in to see how the training was going, I didn't have the heart to tell her I wasn't planning on doing the race after all. I coordinated a run-through with her, a few friends and a swim coach for early Saturday morning. I figured if I could push through that, then maybe I'd suck it up and sign up for the race.

So, the group of us met at Bonelli Park yesterday. The bike clip-in was an ordeal, and the ride was a bit challenging; moreso considering we still had a swim to do and I was trying to conserve energy. That didn't help; by the time I struggled and finally pulled on my wetsuit, I was exhausted. No swim for me...I pulled on my fins and grabbed our swim coach's little flotation device and just kicked alongside the others as they put in their meters and received coaching pointers.

By the time I got home, I was tired and sore and wondering what I could do to motivate myself to jump-start my training. I decided that I would not enter another race to torture myself; I actually want to have fun at one of these events, and that doesn't happen if you're scared of wiping out on your bike (or even stopping and then having to clip back in) or hyperventilating about the swim. That all kinda defeats the purpose of the sport.

So, alas, no tri for me this time. At least not next week. I did notice that Suburu has an all-woman tri in San Diego in October -- perhaps that's worth aiming for. I do know that I want to put the membership I purchased to USAT to good use this year. I hope I can pull it off.

After all, with almost no black women in the sport of triathlon, this sista's gotta represent.

Splurge vs. Steal

Cassis candle by DL & Co. Apothecary, $88 at Coco de Mer USA (deliciously naughty erotic emporium on Melrose):


(sensual, light, sandalwood-y)

vs.

Santal soy candle by Kobo, retail $34; normally $24.95 at Francis Ford Coppola Presents Rosso & Bianco Winery, but ON SALE for $14.99:


(romantic with sandalwood and anise)

Giddyap!

Sonoma, Je T'Aime

I spent the past weekend in and around the city by the Bay. Flew in to Oakland, met up with girlfriends who'd flown in separately, then we drove up to Sonoma County. The weather was gorgeous, sunny and warm.

We stopped in Healdsburg for lunch at Willi's Seafood & Raw Bar (yummy oysters and small plates), walked around the town square, then headed to the Toad Hollow Tasting Room. Dr. Toad himself was there to load up our rental SUV with Cacophony (Zinfandel) and Amplexus (sparkling), which the winery graciously donated to the Virgin's Guide/Dove Chocolate-sponsored wine and chocolate cocktail party I coordinated, which would take place at the Clift Hotel in San Francisco on Monday night.

As the sun began to set, the girls and I headed to Geyserville, where we were staying. (The Geyserville Inn is a wonderful little property, and very comfortable to boot.) Not too long after checking in, we freshened up and headed back to Healdsburg for some din-din.

The sky was an amazing shade of blue when we set out at around 8:45 p.m. -- reminiscent of a summer evening in the South of France. We ended up in the bar area at Barndiva, which is a wonderful space with unique bites and tasty cocktails. Although, the thing is, Healdsburg is a long way from L.A., so the town was just about shut down by the time we left, not even past 11.

Sunday was a blur of wine tastings (Locals, then the beautiful new Coppola winery in Geyserville and then a garden party at Passalacqua), shopping and driving. We got to our hotel in South San Francisco before 8, and raced to get a seating at Town Hall, one of the only restaurants that serves late on Sunday nights.

Monday was crazy. We had to get the two cases of wine from South San Francisco to the Clift Hotel; I had to cab down to the Indian embassy with paperwork and money to pay for a tourist Visa, then get myself back there to pick it up; there were pre-event preparations and stopping to get a bite to eat and freshening up and all that jazz.

But, by 6, the Spanish Suite at the Clift was all decked out and ready for our soiree, with delicious cocktails, Toad Hollow spirits, interesting canapes and, of course, all the Dove chocolate you could dream about. The event was a lot of fun and it seems as if everyone had a great time.

Afterwards, there was some dinner and convo down at Asia de Cuba, and a nice, long sleep. The trip back to L.A. on Tuesday was smooth and uneventful (considering it consisted of: a shuttle to SFO, BART to Oakland, BART shuttle to Oakland airport, and, back in L.A., the shuttle to the City Bus Center and the 3 Express to Lincoln and Brooks in Venice -- yes, I'm doing my part for the environment! -- then a 2 1/2 block walk home).

As I type this, the Virgin's Guide/Dove Chocolate event at the Glenn in Atlanta is winding down. We have another scheduled for May 31st at another swanky hotel in Chicago.

So, back to the old grind. I've already started scoping out Horizon Air's LAX-Sonoma fares, and the Hilton in Santa Rosa has some summer specials (gotta love getting Hilton HHonors points!). I'll be back!

Angela and Geraldine at Coppola:


Angela enjoying the view at Passalacqua:


Merriment at The Clift:

My New Wheels

This is Lulu, my new beach cruiser. She was a birthday present from my fabulous parents. (Well, I bought her with my birthday "present.")

My Enrique (1999 Nissan Pathfinder) is getting up there -- 97,000 miles, and the ridiculously high gas prices are a real drain on my limited "woman of leisure" finances. Since I live in a beach community where I can easily get around on two wheels, I decided what I really needed was a cruiser. Now, I ride to spin class, I ride to the post office, to Staples and to do my local errands; I'll be doing a lot less driving. Of course, this bike is exponentially heavier than my triathlon bike, so I'll be getting a nice workout every time I hit the road.

On another note, yesterday was the first day of sales at the Hollywood Bowl box office. I had a list of tickets to get (for friends and myself), so I got there about an hour after the BO opened, at 11 a.m. I received a wristband with number 517 on it. At that time, they were calling band numbers 100-110(!!).

So, I went to the Hollywood Farmers Market, perused the used DVDs at Amoeba Records, spent a couple hours at the CMU West Coast Alumni Drama Clan picnic at Camrose park, THEN headed back up to the Bowl box office...at about 4:45 p.m. By that time, they were calling numbers 580-590, so I could go stand in line. By 5 p.m., I had all my tickets -- including my SuperSeats for Hall & Oates and a block of cheapies for "Singalong Sound of Music" on June 30. I'm looking forward to a fun-filled summer -- riding my Lulu in the sunshine, and listening to great music under the stars.

Everybody Hates a Hot Mess

Tonight was the "Everybody Hates Chris" panel at the TV Academy. The last few I attended were quite good, so although I was thinking I should save gas and sit this one out, I decided to go.

BIG MISTAKE.

Not that the show episode wasn't cute and the cast/Chris Rock/Ali LeRoi weren't charming and lovely. It's that Kelsey Grammer definitely disappointed as a moderator. I've seen what a bad moderator can do to these types of panels...lose control and they turn into boring love-fests with the actors just patting one another on the back; don't ask interesting questions and it turns into a big snoozer; allow the audience too much latitude with their queries and you get long, rambling, self-serving non-questions.

Kelsey came onstage, offered compliments about everyone on the stage with him, then opened the floor up for questions. WTF? Why was he even there? Better to bill the program as "audience q&a with the cast of Everybody Hates Chris."

Some valiant audience members did try to ask the good "talk about the audition process," "tell us about a typical week on the set," and other perfunctory questions, since it was obvious that Kelsey wasn't going to, but the program quickly degenerated as one freakazoid after another budding-writer-looking-for-a-job took the microphone. The all-time lows were when a blogger asked for pictures with the cast and a sometime actress asked Chris if she could give him a copy of her self-published book. Pity. In their defense, the actors, Chris and Ali were very gracious and tried to stay on point and keep some level of decorum (and, in Chris's case, be funny, although there were so many kids in the audience that his joke choices were a little uncomfortable). It's just a shame that the panel for the one all-black show on the schedule had to be so ghetto.

Note to TV Academy activity committee: stick with reporters and journalists when it comes to booking panel moderators.

Reflections

I was in a strange mood on Sunday evening, so I wound up lying on the couch with the TV on and dozing. Finally, after "Wait Till Your Father Gets Home" (funky classic cartoon) ended on Boomerang, I got up and spent the next five hours in front of my computer, completing offers on one of those marketing websites so that I could qualify for a free Mac laptop. (Stay tuned for news on that.)

Sometime in the wee hours, I received an email message from my friend Susan. She let my friends and I know that our dear friend Jeff passed away on Sunday night. Jeff was just my age.

Jeff succumbed to a short but valiant fight with an opportunistic infection that attacks the brain known as PML. It sounds absolutely awful, and I can just imagine how scared Jeff felt knowing that he was losing control of his body and slipping away from us. When I learned about Jeff's condition, things were already dire, and he had suffered irreparable brain damage. He had lost motor function and was heavily sedated to keep him as comfortable as possible. That news was extremely upsetting, but my friends and I sent lots of prayers and good vibes his way. Just as I was, they were all probably preparing themselves for the inevitable in the process.

When the news came, I was sad, but felt a bit of relief for Jeff. I suppose we can now move on from the worry to the celebration of his life. I hope that I'll be able to travel to New York to do so with his friends and family.

You know the saying that goes something like "the way you celebrate New Year's sets the tone for the rest of the year"? Well, I spent New Year's Eve with my family getting ready to lose my aunt to an ugly, aggressive cancer; I spent New Year's day saying good-bye to her. My aunt Rosemary died on January 3. I felt horrible that she had to spend her last hours on Earth suffering through so much pain, and take her final breath from a strange hospital room.

I felt the same way about Jeff. I suppose I romanticize the ideal death -- passing after a lifetime of amazing experiences in a deep and peaceful sleep, surrounded by the people who love you. It just seems so heartbreaking to have to die in a strange and scary way in a strange and scary place.

However, I do believe that we've all signed up for our destinies, so I suppose that both my Aunt Rosemary and my friend Jeff knew what they were in for, and were well equipped to handle it.

I hope that in the end they were happy with their places in life and had no regrets. I hope they slipped away knowing that they were loved and will never be forgotten.