..is the name of an alternative rock band I love, and also how close we are to the Oscars. We live less than 5 minutes walk from the Kodak Theatre, and if i strain my ears hard enough, I can almost hear the conversations. Since we are not famous enough to be invited, we are watching them from the comfort of our apartment
Yesterday we took a walk down Hollywood Blvd to see how the preparations were going. The street has been closed for about a week now. It's amazing to see what is usually a main street, now completely blocked off. In reality, the Oscars red carpet is a road! They created diversion for people traffic, that took crowds via alleys inside the Egyptian theatre.
I took photos of the area, enjoy:
|they constructed a bypass in the middle of Hollywood Blvd|
|the grand stairs|
|The entrance to the theatre|
|view from Highland Ave. The poster is H.U.G.E|
I am always fascinated by beggars / homeless people. I am curious to find out how and why they ended up on the streets. It might be a sick obsession, but I like hearing those stories. Could be because I am a filmmaker and subconsciously in search of the next movie story? I don't know. I will talk to some, even help them, and some I will ignore. I don't have a criteria, some I just don't feel drawn towards.
|Even the stairs to a parking garage|
looks like the the stairway to heaven!
|Santa Barbara County Courthouse|
|A section of State Street|
I commented on Mrembo's blog that none of ladies tagged on the "What's in My handbag?" posts had included pads or tampons in them. I thought maybe women stopped doing that and no one gave me the memo...So, she tagged me. And now I have to tell you whats in mine.
**dumps all contents on couch**.
...that I have right now. It has been a shitty week. My aunt who i wrote about here succumbed to breast cancer. I have been feeling really low. The kind of ow that toilet flies don't wanna be close to as that is even beneath them.
But our film, Togetherness Supreme, won the Best Int'l Feature Film Award at the Santa Barbara Int'l Film Festival. And that is a BIG deal.
I did not sleep well last night. I took 5 Kroeger Sleep Aids (oh shut up, you are not my mother). Two do not work, and I don't owe you an explanation. If you did not feel like admonishing me for doing that, thanks. Anyway, I got drowsy as expected. 1 hour, 2 hours, 3 hours. Crap! I was not awake, I was not asleep. I was stuck in between! I was feeling like a person trapped between this world and the afterlife. Not quite anywhere. This went on for hours! I could not form coherent thoughts, could not even keep track of my thought.. kept asking myself, what was i thinking that led me to this thought. why am i thinking this particular thought right now? why i am thinking about thinking? what was i thinking before i started thinking about thinking? See, fucked up!
That went on the whole night! You do not want to know how grumpy I was in the morning. I made Nate eggs and bagels. He did not touch the eggs. I wanted to shove them up his snobby nose. I do not think he has ever told me i love you and you are beautiful in one day as many times as he did today! And even that was annoying. And all the cheek pecks and are you okay, anything i can get you were too much. I swear he was pissing me off just by breathing next to me. We got on the 101. Everytime we are on 101, i always sing Phantom Planet's California. Today I did not. He started ' We've been on the run...' I gave him a look that shut his mouth faster than velcro. Poor man! He still had 2 more hours in the car with me! He put on the radio, I reclined the seat and dozed off.
I was beginning to enjoy the sleep when the car stopped. We were in Santa Barbara. I told him to leave me in the car and go keep himself busy. He went to Starbucks. 5 minutes later, I followed him. My stomach was getting queasy. I would get this sharp pain, like gas. I could not pass any gas,then the pain and feeling would go away. Great. More things to piss me off further! As if that was possible. I went into Starbucks toilet. There was a lady in front of me. She complimented me on my headscarf and earrings. Said I looked good. I said thanks, and I am in a shitty mood. Why did I tell her that?? She turned out to be very nice. I didn't see it then. Then she was just a bother. She told me there is a nice church she goes to. i said I was from out of town, was just visiting for the festival. I could see her rearrange her mind troops to find another comforting thing to say. I was gifted with one thing. Eyes. Mine say volumes. You do not have to know me to understand my ' shut up or i swear...' look. She got that one, and retreted. I know. I know.
Then to the award ceremony. We walk to the lobby to ask which room the ceremony is at. The guy at the front desk goes like... pardon? Seriously. I have the most clear accent. I pronounce all my words! But for some reason, Americans don't understand me. I always have to repeat myself. I never have to in London. Americans need English lessons. It's Le-tter, not Le-ra. and Wa-ter, not Wo-ra. Kwendeni huko!
I look at Nate and with my pleading eyes. The 'I will kill him if you don't step in' one. I can honestly feel the sourness coming from my pores. Ugh! The announce that our film has worn. It ALL goes away. Snap. Just like that. Really?? I get pissed off at my moods. At least it could have taken them a bit longer to go away. Like gradually, not just-like-that! One second crap, the next jubilation. I felt shortchanged by my moods!
Anyway, that feeling right then has been with me since. We met up with our pal, called our friends, shared on all networking sites, did tonnes of interviews, then came back to LA in time for Superbowl. I have refused to understand that sport. I don't want to. My mind's quota of the 'sport section' is full. I will have to eliminate a sport from my mind to create room. No way. All I know is that when they say touchdown, someone has scored a point. And that's good for me.
I was still sleepy. I still am. Maybe i am dreaming this post? I will wake up tomorrow, go to my blog and not find this post. Oh well. If it's real, then I guess I need more of those Kroeger sleep aids.
Note to self. Don't take 5 ever again. They will eff you up. badly.
..not when I am given, or even i read warnings. Don;t you just love the Kenyan manner of speaking. Like 'me i don't and starting sentences with words like imagine...
Back to me not heading to warnings. I am the kind of person who is told, ' Do not do that" and my responses, usually at the same time doing exactly that is 'why?' I was a 'why' child and I never grew out of it. Nate told me one day, driving from Oakland to Los Angeles that I ask more whys that a child. Why? was my response. I just wanna know stuff...Why? Not so that I can be incredibly knowledgeable and have intelligent conversation at dinner parties. Or even so that my blog posts can contribute to my readers mental growth. Uh-uh. Just.
So I ended up on a website that had a little link on the left that said ' Do not click here' . Which in Dark Angel speak meant, Click here with all the might you can muster. And Click I did. It lead me to another page, which the same warning repeated. ' Do not click here' Who died and made you God to tell me when to and not to click? clicks tongue, and clicks the link.
What followed was a little pop up that said something like, hello, i am an alert box, with an OK button, which miss click, clicked. And then it proceeded to have conversations with me. Like, how are you- click OK - you don't say much- click OK- you are a shallow human being - click OK - don't you have anything intelligent to say except click OK - click OK....and so on. Now, there was no Cancel or Quit button. Just a silly OK button that made me feel oh-so-stupid! This went on for about 5 minutes. The most stupid 5 minutes of my life! then when the silly thing came to an end, after making me feel like the lowliest of worms, there was no way to quit it! So it started all over again! I had to quit my browser, (that will teach me, I had email replies that I was still typing!), and make sure that particular tab did not open again.
If you have 5 minutes of your life you never wanna get back ( not that there are any that you will ever get back), amuse yourself here http://www.blueswami.com/Donot
A couple of years ago, I did a post on men's guide to women's bra sizes. It was not original, but it was inspired by the guy i was dating then. He asked me to explain to him what 36C and DD stand for in women's bra (are there men's bras? why do we need to clarify that?). So I did what every person who owns a computer and has decent internet connection does when asked a question that you have an answer to - Googled it. I came across a very stupid proof way of explaining to men the numerals and alphabet behind women's bras. It was done in a language they (men) understand, with graphics they would not be forgetting soon. It was intended to be a little post, those that get tucked away in your archive. But no. I had opened a pandora box. I had put 'men' and 'bra' in the same sentence.
Years later, this little post has become the major source of traffic to my blog. So much so that a Google search of the term 'mens guide to bra sizes' produces my blog as the No. 1 result! Think I am joshing? I took a screen shot to prove it: