Frequent house guest and good friend D left this past week for Japan, leaving behind a space in our hearts, a small box of books, and extra suitcase and his camelback. He
also sold us his '95 Toyota Camry, making us once again a two car family--woo hoo!
Waiting in line at the DMV anyway to transfer the title, I decided the time had come to finally trade my Florida driver's license in for a California license. I had BOTH my passport and my birth certificate, so I felt pretty confident I could make this happen.
But apparently things have changed since the last time I got a California Driver's license--in the name of Barrington Smith. Because of concerns about identity theft, the none-to-helpful representative at the counter told me, when I reached her after an hour and a half, my license must EXACTLY match what is printed on my passport/birth certificate.
Some of you may know that my full given name was actually Susan Jean Barrington Smith. Then I got married, so make that Smith-Seetachitt. For over twenty years, I have used my middle name, Barrington, to conduct business. It is the name that is on my bank accounts, loan agreements, insurance documents, time cards, W-2 forms, and my social security card. Oh, and my current Florida driver's license. I pulled it out along with my social security card, and showed the representative. She was not impressed.
"Without a court ordered name change document, I can only put the exact name that appears on the passport."
"Okay, fine, if you want to put five names on that little card, go ahead. I've no idea how I'll airline reservations, but I'll figure it out."
"No, I can't, because the name has to match your social security card, so you need to get your social security card changed first."
??%"*9!!
In two countries and three states I've used my middle name with no problem...until now.
Apparently, to obtain a court ordered name change, I need to make a public notice in the newspaper for four weeks first, and then go to court. REALLY?! I don't even want to CHANGE my name. I just want to choose how to use the one I have!
I feel like my identity is being stolen--and not by identity thieves!!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
Lethargy
So not into motion right now. There's a little cocktails/birthday thing for folks in our program tonight, and I just can't. make. myself. move. Moreover since it would require a change of clothes.
Instead, I think I will try to creep over to Paul's computer (he is out watching Transformers) and try to check out the Dr. Who series, highly recommended by my friend Safia.
In other news, I have been "following" myself on this blog for three days now, and...it doesn't seem to mean anything. It shows up on my reader with the heading "following," but I don't see any difference between following and subscribing. But it feels weird to be the only follower of myself, so I am attempting to figure out how to "unfollow" someone. Keep an eye on that right hand side bar for the exciting results!
Instead, I think I will try to creep over to Paul's computer (he is out watching Transformers) and try to check out the Dr. Who series, highly recommended by my friend Safia.
In other news, I have been "following" myself on this blog for three days now, and...it doesn't seem to mean anything. It shows up on my reader with the heading "following," but I don't see any difference between following and subscribing. But it feels weird to be the only follower of myself, so I am attempting to figure out how to "unfollow" someone. Keep an eye on that right hand side bar for the exciting results!
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Blog Housekeeping
Over the past couple of years, a few people have noted having trouble adding my blog to their RSS feeders. I have recently updated the template for this blog. It is kind of ugly, but it allowed me to add this "Subscribe To" window that is currently in the right-hand sidebar. If you are someone who has been unable to subscribe in the past, try clicking on that and let me know how it goes!
There is also, by default, a window that says, "Follow Me." I have no idea what this does. I think I can remove the whole thing, but thought I would leave it there for awhile and see what happens. What happens if you follow me? The only following I understand is Twitter. Do my 500 word posts download to your twitter account? What happens if I follow myself? Will it allow me to chase my own tail?
Technology. It moves on.
There is also, by default, a window that says, "Follow Me." I have no idea what this does. I think I can remove the whole thing, but thought I would leave it there for awhile and see what happens. What happens if you follow me? The only following I understand is Twitter. Do my 500 word posts download to your twitter account? What happens if I follow myself? Will it allow me to chase my own tail?
Technology. It moves on.
West Coast Again
Paul and I got back from our whirlwind nine-day trip to Florida last night. With full days of travel at either end, this left us a week: Three days in Sarasota with my parents, two days in Tallahassee, seeing friends (and Paul of course worked on a friend's film) and two days back in Sarasota with my dad while Mom zipped up to Indiana to organize some things up there.
Generally my parents "winter" in Florida, and return to Indiana each summer, and generally my siblings and I manage to travel to Indiana to stay in large rambling house we grew up in, see some friends, eat some tomatoes from the farmer's stand that sets up along the road in a field near our house. I usually cut across the back lot to visit the librarians at the small strip mall near our house, some of whom still remember me from story time hours and the summer reading program where I proudly read a hundred books, returning after each to fill out little questionnaires. Now I guess it would take me half a decade to read a hundred books.
This summer, my father has not been well enough to travel north, and in truth, may never do so again. Due to budget cuts, all the local libraries have been closed. The field with the tomato farmer has been annexed to a neighboring tree farm. The world turns.
The Florida trip was sad and happy, inspiring and daunting. I loved seeing our friends in Tallahassee, and there were a couple of perfect evenings that I could not improve upon by any editing. Writing and it's practice were never main topics of discussion, but with writers it is often referred to in passing, and even these small aside discussions were enough to jar me from the screenwriting hole I have burrowed into of late, reminding me, not for the first time, that I have some real contemplating to do about where and how to invest my writing time.
Seeing my parents was very emotional. They have a lot of transitions going on right now, and in truth, I can't even imagine what each of them is going through, but these days were a window into their lives right now. After several conversations and glowing recommendations from people who have been in similar situation, I imposed myself to set up some outside help in the form of instating a hospice team. and I hope it was the right thing to do. Paul says that I seem sure of myself in these decisions to the point of arrogance, but I am sure of nothing, except that in times of severe stress, the people you are trying to help don't have the resources to entertain the personal angst and indecision of people who are supposedly helping. I figure better to approach possible solutions with confidence enough to encourage a real try. If they fail, it won't be for lack of commitment. Hospice services can easily be revoked, but in my time there, the visit from the social worker alone seemed worth the paperwork. She spent almost three hours letting him talk and cry, and asking good questions, and the experience seemed to really raise his spirits and lessen his anxiety.
I kissed my dad goodbye yesterday knowing I might end up back in Florida for several more weeks this summer or it might be the last time I ever see him.
In either case, the moment highlighted my awareness throughout the trip of the imminent ending of ways of life that had become habitual. In Tallahassee we played a board came with our friends Mark and Becky, and it felt so oddly the same as it always had, though a year has passed. And then I would be washed over with a wave of realization that it might be another year before we do so again, maybe never in that same house, and depending on fate, maybe never.
Our friends David and Nancy showed up as several of us were hanging out at Frank and Cherie's house, and we all sat and joked in the living room as we had in the past but David and Nancy had stopped by to say goodbye, as they were leaving the following day for new jobs and lives in San Francisco. The chances of that particular group of people all gathering together in a single room is slim indeed.
So, cliches. Things are always changing. Nothing stays the same. Life is bittersweet.
Waves of gratitude for the family and friends that we love are succeeded by waves of sorrow that they cannot last--that we cannot last. But in the end I guess it is gratitude that wins out, for this impossible and temporary time we have been given.
Generally my parents "winter" in Florida, and return to Indiana each summer, and generally my siblings and I manage to travel to Indiana to stay in large rambling house we grew up in, see some friends, eat some tomatoes from the farmer's stand that sets up along the road in a field near our house. I usually cut across the back lot to visit the librarians at the small strip mall near our house, some of whom still remember me from story time hours and the summer reading program where I proudly read a hundred books, returning after each to fill out little questionnaires. Now I guess it would take me half a decade to read a hundred books.
This summer, my father has not been well enough to travel north, and in truth, may never do so again. Due to budget cuts, all the local libraries have been closed. The field with the tomato farmer has been annexed to a neighboring tree farm. The world turns.
The Florida trip was sad and happy, inspiring and daunting. I loved seeing our friends in Tallahassee, and there were a couple of perfect evenings that I could not improve upon by any editing. Writing and it's practice were never main topics of discussion, but with writers it is often referred to in passing, and even these small aside discussions were enough to jar me from the screenwriting hole I have burrowed into of late, reminding me, not for the first time, that I have some real contemplating to do about where and how to invest my writing time.
Seeing my parents was very emotional. They have a lot of transitions going on right now, and in truth, I can't even imagine what each of them is going through, but these days were a window into their lives right now. After several conversations and glowing recommendations from people who have been in similar situation, I imposed myself to set up some outside help in the form of instating a hospice team. and I hope it was the right thing to do. Paul says that I seem sure of myself in these decisions to the point of arrogance, but I am sure of nothing, except that in times of severe stress, the people you are trying to help don't have the resources to entertain the personal angst and indecision of people who are supposedly helping. I figure better to approach possible solutions with confidence enough to encourage a real try. If they fail, it won't be for lack of commitment. Hospice services can easily be revoked, but in my time there, the visit from the social worker alone seemed worth the paperwork. She spent almost three hours letting him talk and cry, and asking good questions, and the experience seemed to really raise his spirits and lessen his anxiety.
I kissed my dad goodbye yesterday knowing I might end up back in Florida for several more weeks this summer or it might be the last time I ever see him.
In either case, the moment highlighted my awareness throughout the trip of the imminent ending of ways of life that had become habitual. In Tallahassee we played a board came with our friends Mark and Becky, and it felt so oddly the same as it always had, though a year has passed. And then I would be washed over with a wave of realization that it might be another year before we do so again, maybe never in that same house, and depending on fate, maybe never.
Our friends David and Nancy showed up as several of us were hanging out at Frank and Cherie's house, and we all sat and joked in the living room as we had in the past but David and Nancy had stopped by to say goodbye, as they were leaving the following day for new jobs and lives in San Francisco. The chances of that particular group of people all gathering together in a single room is slim indeed.
So, cliches. Things are always changing. Nothing stays the same. Life is bittersweet.
Waves of gratitude for the family and friends that we love are succeeded by waves of sorrow that they cannot last--that we cannot last. But in the end I guess it is gratitude that wins out, for this impossible and temporary time we have been given.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Expiration Date
After being married for over eight years, I just found this out the other day. When Paul is buying something with a credit card, and it asks for the date of expiration, and say, the card says "10/31/09", he doesn't say "10-09", but "11-09" since that's the day it has actually expired.
Who does that?
Do you?
Am I the only one who says "10-09"?
Interestingly, the payment is accepted both ways.
Who does that?
Do you?
Am I the only one who says "10-09"?
Interestingly, the payment is accepted both ways.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Balloon Bass Band - "Sneaky 'n' Sleazy" by Unpopable
Saw this band "Unpopable" at a little bar in Pasadena last night. The guy has (as you can see here) created a kind of one string bass out of balloons. It's pretty cool. He makes each instrument the night of. Last night he was using a white balloon for the string and wearing a white T-shirt, so there was the added bonus that it mostly seemed like he was rocking out on this weird air guitar.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Hello. I've Just Got to Let You Know.
Fell off the blogging wagon (actually the opposite of that) lately, so don't think I mentioned this.
While placing flower/swag arrangements in celebrity trailers with another P.A. on American Idol, I realized how I might be getting too old for this when we had the following conversation.
ME: Okay, that's Keith Urban's done, who's left?
OTHER P.A.(looking at paper with dressing room layout): Um, Lionel, I can't tell which one is supposed to be hers.
ME: Whoa. Do you not know who Lionel Ritchie is?
OTHER P.A.: I think I've heard of her.
ME: Him. (singing) Cause I wonder where you are. And I wonder what you dooo. And I want to tell you so much... Anything?
OTHER P.A.: (shaking head, no recognition) Sorry.
ME: Nicole Ritchie's dad.
OTHER P.A.: Oh! Yeah.
Oh, yeah.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Reading and Writing
Just bought a new blank book for four bucks, and having a cuppa tea that costs about the same. Up charge for subsituting soy for dairy? Fifty-five cents! Is it just me, or is that a lot?
Still, vanilla red tea latte. It was really good. I was conscious of enjoying it, and enjoying my new red notebook. Maybe it is the sudden absence of imminent deadlines, but I have been more consciously enjoying things lately. Listening to music as I fold laundry, the feel of sleeping on freshly changed sheets, the quiet satisfaction of crossing long-delayed administrative tasks off my list, the luxury of wandering the stacks at the library with no real time constraint.
Maybe part of my consciously enjoying is in counterpoint to talking to my parents, who are going through a difficult time right now. My father has been feeling unwell for over a month now, and he is not happy about it. One of his chief complaints of late is that it feels difficult to breathe. There's more to it than that, but the relevant bit is a conversation I had with him the other day, when he sounded miserable, and I asked him, "Is there anything left that is a respite from your suffering. Is there anything that you enjoy?" His response was that "It's hard to enjoy anything when you can't breathe."
I feel very sorry for my dad right now. I can only imagine that lack of breath (although his oxygen levels are fine) would feel a little like drowning, and would be quite panic inducing, but at the same time, I can't help but see some of his suffering comes as a result of how he has trained his mind over the years. Or how he has not. I am periodically reminded that gratitude takes practice, and that if we do not practice when things are going well, we will be ill-equipped to find it when things are not.
I wonder to myself if I would be grateful for the pleasure of sunlight on my skin if I was feeling like a couldn't breathe? Do I feel a passing moment of gratitude now, when, running to my car in a hurry, I notice the day is beautiful, that the air touching my face is perfect? Do I feel grateful for it when I am worried about money, about jobs, about career and babies? I do, and more so when I am in the habit of doing so. Sometimes I slip out of the habit, and have to struggle to get it back. How hard would it be if I were years out of the habit?
I remember once someone--maybe it was my dad--advising me when I was a young driver and worried about driving in a downpour. There was so much rain coming down I could barely see anything. He--whoever it was--pointed out, "Your are focusing at the rain on the windshield, you have to look beyond that." I made the adjustment, and found it helped quite a lot. I couldn't see the world like I could when it was not raining, but I could see it well enough to drive. And that was the point. And without my preconceptions of how I wanted things to look I might even have noticed how the blurry buildings and streetlights through the sparkling rain at dusk had a beauty of their own.
Still, vanilla red tea latte. It was really good. I was conscious of enjoying it, and enjoying my new red notebook. Maybe it is the sudden absence of imminent deadlines, but I have been more consciously enjoying things lately. Listening to music as I fold laundry, the feel of sleeping on freshly changed sheets, the quiet satisfaction of crossing long-delayed administrative tasks off my list, the luxury of wandering the stacks at the library with no real time constraint.
Maybe part of my consciously enjoying is in counterpoint to talking to my parents, who are going through a difficult time right now. My father has been feeling unwell for over a month now, and he is not happy about it. One of his chief complaints of late is that it feels difficult to breathe. There's more to it than that, but the relevant bit is a conversation I had with him the other day, when he sounded miserable, and I asked him, "Is there anything left that is a respite from your suffering. Is there anything that you enjoy?" His response was that "It's hard to enjoy anything when you can't breathe."
I feel very sorry for my dad right now. I can only imagine that lack of breath (although his oxygen levels are fine) would feel a little like drowning, and would be quite panic inducing, but at the same time, I can't help but see some of his suffering comes as a result of how he has trained his mind over the years. Or how he has not. I am periodically reminded that gratitude takes practice, and that if we do not practice when things are going well, we will be ill-equipped to find it when things are not.
I wonder to myself if I would be grateful for the pleasure of sunlight on my skin if I was feeling like a couldn't breathe? Do I feel a passing moment of gratitude now, when, running to my car in a hurry, I notice the day is beautiful, that the air touching my face is perfect? Do I feel grateful for it when I am worried about money, about jobs, about career and babies? I do, and more so when I am in the habit of doing so. Sometimes I slip out of the habit, and have to struggle to get it back. How hard would it be if I were years out of the habit?
I remember once someone--maybe it was my dad--advising me when I was a young driver and worried about driving in a downpour. There was so much rain coming down I could barely see anything. He--whoever it was--pointed out, "Your are focusing at the rain on the windshield, you have to look beyond that." I made the adjustment, and found it helped quite a lot. I couldn't see the world like I could when it was not raining, but I could see it well enough to drive. And that was the point. And without my preconceptions of how I wanted things to look I might even have noticed how the blurry buildings and streetlights through the sparkling rain at dusk had a beauty of their own.
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