Chopin, Ballade No 1. in G Minor. Ivan Moravec. Haunting song that might make you cry if you allow yourself to think deep enough while listening to it. Ten minutes long. Gifted pianist. My words won’t do it justice, you might just have to listen yourself. There are times when we don’t know what to say. There are times, that even as a writer, I can’t find the words to describe how I feel. This is why music was invented, so you can let the notes, so delicately strung together, speak for you.

Stumbling upon people’s websites or social networking pages that you know is always hilarious, sometimes shocking and at other times depressing. At times, I have been known to thoroughly background check and Google search people I know. I’m not quite sure why I engage in this behavior, other than to satisfy my own curiosity and boredom, but once you get started, once you enter that person’s name in a search engine, there is no stopping you until you’ve finished discovering every single crevice of their past and present life.  Sometimes there are people I search for from high school just because their name pops into my head out of nowhere. Being on the yearbook staff for three years will do that to you. Sometimes they don’t exist on the internet. I find that so disheartening and upsetting. Not because I don’t have any juicy dirt to read about them, oh no. But because we are in the 21st century people! How do you not have an online presence in this day and age is beyond me. There are 10-year-olds with more online presence than the now 23-year-olds I went to high school with. You people disgust me.

A couple months ago I came across information about a relative I had not spoken to for about three to four years. It wasn’t because we were both busy, or because there was any type of physical distance between us that we stopped talking. It was purely out of choice, and not really a democratic one at that, at least as far as my choice was concerned. It’s always weird seeing how someone’s life has evolved since you haven’t been around. The kids they’ve had, the conversations they’ve been a part of, the fact that you play no part in their life and they play no part in yours.

It’s easy to utter the words “forgive and forget” in situations like this, and there are always people who are going to repeat that phrase, but it’s so much harder than that.

Some days I miss her. I remember our shopping trips, the way I could confide in her, like an older sister I didn’t have, how she took me under her wing and gave me advice. I thought our relationship was so strong, that the thought of not even being on speaking terms with each other did not even once cross my mind. We were close. My dad played a big part in raising her, probably about 10 to 12 years before I even existed. She touted over me when I was an infant. Both our families located to Greece to escape Iran, and then to Los Angeles to start a new life. We lived about two minutes away from each other. I was a bridesmaid at her wedding.

Now, she has two children. They don’t know who I am, nor do I expect them to. Now, I’ve graduated, with a job and a life of my own. It would be safe to say that she no longer knows who I am. She missed out on a critical period of my life and I missed out on a critical period in hers, I suppose.

And still to this day, the details of why and how communication stopped remains a blur. All that’s left is me, where I am and she, where she is. And there’s nothing to change. Not really, anyway. I don’t even know if I want a change. I don’t. It’s just a matter of accepting. Accepting the cards you’ve been dealt, trekking on and perhaps reserving a bit of hope in the back of your head that someday, you might cross paths and actually say hello and embrace each other again.

I took this photo on July 22 in 2005. It’s right outside my house on a no doubt warm, but beautiful summer day. I must have been a junior in college with the summer off as I refused to take summer school for my own insanity. I probably would have graduated earlier if I did, but then, I wouldn’t have been around to look at this rusted orange sky.

Montreal, July 2008

It’s 12:45 a.m., Monday morning. In six hours, I will have to drag myself out of bed so I can look decent enough that I don’t scare people when I walk outside my house. The minute I get out of bed, Henry, my eternal shadow will also rise, climb down his miniature stairs and start his morning ritual by going to inspect what’s going on in the backyard through the window. He’ll let out a couple of barks, making sure that whatever might be out there, be it invisible or not has heard him and his stern warning to stay away.

The truth is, I’d much rather stay in bed tomorrow morning than go to work. It’s not so much work as it is getting there, and I’ve complained about Los Angeles traffic so much here that I feel like a broken record and  I’d rather not think about it any longer. And it’s not just the traffic. It’s the heat. The unbearable heat that will not leave this city alone.

I can’t take it anymore. I mean in two days, we will be in October, and still I couldn’t get anything that I really wanted to accomplish, accomplished because the heat made me so lethargic. I’m not asking for much, I’d just like some cool breezes and moderate weather. Mostly, I want to take out my sweaters and boots and coats and scarves. Los Angeles, I know you’re vain, so if for nothing else, please get cold for the sake of fashion.

I have a full week ahead of me. On top of dealing with writers and articles at work, I must attend a screening of the film, “Happy-Go-Lucky” on Tuesday. I’m actually excited because it’s a film about the life of a North London school teacher, and my boyfriend is from around there. On Friday, I have to venture out to UCLA to cover the Kronos Quartet perform at Royce Hall.

In between all that, I am trying to fit in time to study for the GRE, as well as develop some other projects I’m working on. Unfortunately, last Thursday, the edible gardening show that I co-hosted came to an end. It was a sad day for me because the show was one of the things I really look forward to every week. It allowed me a chance to take a break from the daily routine I have and also to contribute and be creative. I’m developing another radio show at the moment, however its only exclusive to writers.

There is so much to do in such little time. At the end of the month, I take my GRE test. By December, I have to submit applications to the schools I am applying to. The stressful part is that it’s not just an application. It’s an application, plus three letters of recommendation, plus samples of my work, plus a possible essay. I just hope I don’t faint during all of it.

A couple of weeks ago, I made a cake for a friend’s birthday. I was looking in particular for a recipe that had both coconut and banana in it, as I had made coconut banana cupcakes once and they had been her favorite. I really looked high and low for a good recipe, at one point I decided to just wing it, but Epicurious did not disappoint. I found the recipe, “Banana Cake with Coconut Frosting,” but added coconut flakes in the batter along with the banana.

The recipe called for coconut cream for the frosting, but I didn’t have any, so I just ended up using more coconut flakes! And I added raspberries, just as a personal touch. Plus, more fruit is never a bad thing. It was super soft and for the most part, was met with a good reception. It’s unfortunate that most people don’t have a liking for banana or coconut. Sad really. I don’t know how someone can not like tropical fruit flavors like this in dessert. It was the same when I worked at a chocolate store while I was going to school. There were certain people who absolutely loved the pineapple truffle or coconut cream, but there were certain people who were so turned off that they would literally make a face of disgust when I would offer them one of the aforementioned flavors as a sample. What is wrong with you people?!

In the immortal words of Gus Portokalos, from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” “They’re like toast! My daughter is engaged to a person with parents that are toast. No honey, no jam, just toast! Dry toast!”

Today I stepped out at lunch to go to Urban Outfitters because I had been eyeing a shirt of theirs. It was a “now or never” kind of shirt:

Yea. So I made my way over there, not realizing it was the wrong day to walk because I was wearing high heels. This is my punishment for waiting so long to get this shirt. I walked in, went straight to the “SALE” section, found it and went straight to the cashier. It was a good thing I waited in retrospect, because on their website the shirt is $14.99 but I ended up getting it for $9.99, even though the original price was $28.

I was pretty excited about my purchase and I was making my way back to the office, I saw a little booth set up on 3rd street promenade with a guy selling Obama/Biden merchandise. There were buttons with Obama’s face transposed on Superman’s body, window posters, mini buttons with just his face and bumper stickers. Because of my political fueled drive home last night, I decided I wanted something. Button, sticker, whatever. I wanted it. I hopped into Famima to buy some bottled water, got some cash back and darted over to the booth, $10 in hand.

Enough people were coming up to buy objects of their political stances that it became a small crowd. As I picked a button up, a curly-haired boy, maybe about 7-years-old came up to the booth. He was wearing a rusty red shirt with jeans and he picked up one of the stickers and examined it.

“Is this our president?” he asked.

His mom, who had walked back to retrieve him, smiled and said “Well, we hope!”

She looked up, smiled at me, and both the seller and I laughed.

It was the most precious thing I think I have ever seen. It really gave me chills. I picked up the same sticker the little boy had, and bought it with my button.

• I heard John McCain proclaim that “We’re winning the war in Iraq.” I am just so confused by this statement, because there is nothing to win. There is stability to create and infrastructure to build and troops to get out, but I just have this sickening feeling that Republican ideology is always “us” against “them.” The “them” could be Democrats, a Middle Eastern country or people who believe in the right that a woman should have a choice about what she decides to do with her own body.

• Then I read that Lynne Spears, Britney and Jamie Lynn’s mother spoke out about the hypocritical treatment Jamie Lynn received when she announced her pregnancy, compared to Bristol Palin, who was touted in the media, well, conservative and right winged media as a great girl with a fantastic mom who understands and accepts the responsibility of having a child at 17-years-old. It’s really disturbing and it just shows you how deeply ignorant and hypocritical and self-serving these people are. Here is an excellent clip from the Jon Stewart Show with King of the Ignorants, Bill O’ Reilly, praising Bristol and Sarah Palin, while damning Jamie Lynne and her parents to hell. It’s quite entertaining.
• Then I heard Barack Obama speaking to a crowd of journalists today about his decision to move forward with the debates while McCain is in favor of postponing them so that he can focus on the economic crisis at hand. Can’t multi-task there, John? Wow. And there are people actually voting for this man.
• Then I started thinking about how I feel about writing about politics on this blog. As journalists, we’ve been trained to keep an objective view on all things. We must not get involved. We must remain neutral. When I write about politics in here, I don’t think it really matters, because a) no one is really reading and b) I’m not a reporter who is covering either candidate on the campaign trail, so I’m allowed to have an opinion.
• This election means so much to me, that I don’t even want to speak to anyone who is not voting for Obama. This election is about my generation, about my future children’s generation, about the people in this country who cannot afford to take their sick children to the emergency room or feed their families. This is about the families in Iraq who are struggling with the same problems because of the decisions one idiotic and ignorant man made to invade their country and tear up their land. I have had enough of it and I think everyone around the world has had enough of it.
• The difference between someone who votes for John McCain and his pig with lipstick, Palin and someone who votes for Obama and Biden is that, the latter actually cares about the needs and values of other people, while the former only cares about themselves.
• The forefathers of this country, at least in theory, had the right idea. They wanted America to be a place where you could live in peace and succeed in life, no matter what creed, color or race you happen to be. To think that after 200 and some odd years, that there are still people in this country who think Barack Obama is a Muslim and that’s their reasoning for not voting for him is just MIND BOGGLING. These people need to be all stuffed in a trailer home and sent out to sea.
• Then the traffic started breaking up and I was almost home free, so I actually had to concentrate on the road. Time is ticking. The actual election is almost upon us. Sometimes I stay awake and night wondering what it’s all going to be like. I can’t wait for the day to come that I can walk into a voting center and mark a dot next to Barack Obama’s name. Si Se Puede!

I have always had a love affair with rain. When others were craving sunshine and hot days, I was wishing for wet weather. Something about it soothes me. Maybe it’s the sound, how it falls so effortlessly and fearlessly on my car, my window and on leaves. The allure of rain for me, is not just about the rain itself, but perhaps more about what it brings: sleep, comfort, woolly socks, a cup of warm tea, a snuggle, a blanket.

It washes away my thoughts and cleanses my head, along with the outside world it touches. For a while I thought I was alone in my love of rain, and most days I think I still am.

Then one rare day a couple weeks ago, the sky in Los Angeles turned grey and I could tell, I could just tell that it was mustering up all its energy to sprinkle some rain and clean the filthy streets and people of this city, but it didn’t quite have the strength to. So it retreated back and sunshine took over and I was back to feeling depressed about the weather again.

While it was grey though, a song came on the radio that confirmed my feelings: I was not the only one who loved rain. It turns out that Loudon Wainwright, father of Rufus Wainwright, likes gloomy days in Los Angeles just as much as I do. He likes them so much in fact, that he wrote a song about it:

When it’s grey in L.A. I sure like it that way
Cause there’s way too much sunshine round here
I don’t know about you I get so sick of blue skies
Whenever they always appear

And I sure love the sound of the rain pouring down
On my carport roof made out of tin
If there’s a flood then there’s gonna be mudslides
We all have to pay for our sin

And I suppose that they’ll close canyon roads
And the freeways will all start to clog
And the waters will rise and you won’t be surprised
When your whole house smells like your wet dog

When it’s grey in L.A. it’s much better that way
It reminds you that this town’s so cruel
Yeah it might feel like fun when you’re sportin’ sunglasses
But really you’re one more fool

You might remember this song if you’ve seen the film, “Knocked Up.” You can listen to it here.

I thought that discovering this song would be the last I would ever hear of anyone being devoted to rain as I am, until I started my daily website reading routine by going to the NY Times website, as I do every morning. A gem awaited me there, in the form of a written ode and a short film capturing the essence of it all.

Jeff Scher, a painter and experimental filmmaker filmed the rain trickling down on the balcony of his home, while his wife was fast asleep with one of his sons, with a Beaulie wind-up 16 mm. movie camera from the ’60s and film that was, as he says “at least 10 years out of date.” The music in the film and sound design is by Shay Lynch and adds such a touch of loveliness to the whole thing. Even though it’s only three minutes long, this film manages to capture the essence of rain so well. Watch “While You Were Sleeping.”

“The fleeting inverted image of the landscape in the raindrops as they swell from drop to drip is an optical phenomenon, but to me it’s pure magic,” writes Sher. “And then they form streams and pulse hypnotically like luminous quicksilver.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself. And let me tell you, not only is Jeff Scher awesome because he shares my affinity for rain, but he makes these incredible animated short films with amazing soundtracks. Case in point: Reasons to be Glad, which you can watch below.

I would love to be able to interview him for an article, while it was raining of course.

Yes yes, I know. Christmas is at least three months away, but it looks like one of Santa’s elves has come out to play…

Henry tried on some pyjamas last night, as you can tell. A lot of people might get the impression that dressing dogs is silly and while for the most part, I whole heartedly agree, you have to take into consideration that small dogs, especially Maltese, because they don’t have an undercoat, get cold. So here he is, getting ready for the holiday season that is ever so quickly creeping up on us.

National Stay At Home Week has officially begun and while I am so excited about Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives starting, I cannot believe I just sat through an entire two hours of Dancing With the Stars. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy this show a lot, especially the non-existent costumes, Bruno’s metaphors and Tom Bergeron’s humor - I just can’t believe it robbed me of two hours of my time. I think they should just hand the trophy to Cloris Leachman and call it a day. This woman made my life worth living. She put her leg on the judging table for crying out loud! And made Len Goodman call himself a boy toy! She is sheer genius. I think I even heard her call Carrie Ann Inaba a bitch for giving her a low score. Oh Cloris, I hope throngs of people vote for you. If I cared enough, I would.

Tom was back on his game after the Emmy’s last night, a hosting gig which didn’t quite go so well, mostly because of the fact that he had to share the stage with Ryan Seacrest and Howie Mandel.

I was getting excited about the show, until they put Samantha Harris on screen and I turned away, in fear that she would be mumbling inaudible, other worldly phrases that I did not have the mental capacity to understand. I just don’t understand why Samantha is there. We all know full well Tom could carry on the entire show without her. She is useless. She’s an utterly useless who wears utterly useless, distasteful and over the top I might add ball gown dresses. Don’t even get me started on the questions she asks. Most of time they’re not so much questions, as they are phrases, like “This must be so exciting for you to be here!” And then she sticks the microphone in someone’s face and expects them to respond to her comment. Ugh, Samantha, I think you’re hopeless.

None of the dances particularly struck a chord with me and many of them were quite unmemorable. Case in point: the only thing I remember from Lance Bass’ air time was when his professional dancing partner Lacey Schwimmer commented on how she wanted to once marry him, but now that wasn’t going to happen, most likely due to the fact that Bass would probably like to dance more with Maksim Chmerkovskiy.

Then there was comedian Jeffrey Ross, commenting on the fact that he could only see half of Kim Kardashian’s booty because of an eye injury earlier in the day during practice. Which brings me to my Reality TV princess, Kim. I can’t hate her. I think I tried once, but I can’t. It’s not so much that she’s gorgeous, and believe me she is, it’s that she’s one of my own, for better or for worse.

It was also refreshing hearing Carrie Ann tell Soap Queen Susan Lucci that she needs to gain weight. Yes Susan, gain some weight so that Tony Dovolani’s chest doesn’t blow you away. I swear that boy got into ballroom dancing just so he could have the ability to wear shirts and leave them open down to his crotch.

Between the craziness of this and America’s Next Top Model, my head just might end up combusting.