1-800-AAA-RRGH

Last Monday, I missed a phone interview with the California Employment Development Department. I don't know what happened to the pre-interview notice they promised me; I do know that when I got back from my New Year's Eve Trader Joe's run, Mary from the State of California was disappointed to have missed me. The phone number she left was unstaffed, and their email told me to call the main line. This, I now know, is the first rule of the California Employment Development Department: Don't miss a phone call with the California Employment Development Department.

Nine days and about a hundred phone-dials later--I literally called twenty-eight times yesterday--I still haven't gotten through. Sometimes, the system is up-front with me: I dial, please call back later, goodbye. Click! Other times, it leads me on. "Welcome!" it says. My heart beats fast. I have my reference number handy. Five menus and my Social Security number later...please call back later. Goodbye. Click.

This is like the worst radio call-in contest ever.

Rumor has it the system maxes out when the on-hold wait gets longer than ten minutes. Which, okay. Let's think about this. First of all, this is a phone system for every unemployed person in the state of California. A ten-minute hold line is something you have for a popular dentist in a small town, not the social safety net for the most populous state in the union. Second, I'm a big girl. I have a phone with a speaker function. I can be on hold for more than ten minutes if it means I don't have to spend a week of my life calling this phone number. Give me twenty minutes! Half an hour! I can be on the phone all afternoon if it means you'll start sending me the benefits I applied for.

What will I do, you ask, while I wait my turn? Well, I'll search job websites. Futz with my cover letter. Sing along with your hold music. Memorize that message about Congress extending benefits. Make scrambled eggs. Watch "30 Rock" reruns. Catch up on The New Yorker. Clean my bathroom. Clean my kitchen. Clean my living room. Make sure my professional website works. See if anybody's visited my professional website. Make my bed. Check Facebook. Decide what to make for dinner. Make a grocery list. Knit. Write a thank-you note. Write a note of ungratefulness. What does it matter what I do? At the end of it, I will have spoken to someone. The social safety net will have triumphed!

Some day, EDD, I hope we can do these things together.

Goodbye.

Click.

Reality Day

I would like to propose a new holiday. I like to call it Reality Day. Or the Day of Reality. Or, ooh, the Festival of Reality! Whatever we're calling it, Reality Day falls on January 2, unless January 2 falls on a weekend. Weekends go against everything Reality Day stands for.

You may have noticed that today is January 2.

Happy Reality Day!

Here's the thing: until shortly before Christmas, I had a job. It was a good one: I sat in a small, messy room, surrounded by people I liked--people I like, actually, present-tense--and wrote scripts for a comedic educational TV show/DVD series. In the middle of December, my company's financial tether ran out. I was laid off, effective immediately; I arrived at the office at 9:15 and was home, with my lunch leftovers and the fake hipster glasses I'd brought in for a sketch, by eleven.

I decided to embrace the time off. Nobody's hiring the week before Christmas, let alone the week after, so I declared my Winter Break, college-style, and applied myself conscientiously to the task of relaxing. I hung out with my parents, who are local, and with my brother, whom I don't see that often. I stayed up late with friends, playing games and drinking wine and talking, and slept in accordingly, unless I had brunch plans. I celebrated Christmas. I went to my family's cabin and read The Voyage of the Dawn Treader in front of the fire. I celebrated New Year's Day with friends and fried chicken and a mini-road trip toward dinner, watching the sun set behind the hills as I drove down Highway 101.

That was yesterday. Yesterday was Winter Break. Today is Reality Day. On Reality Day, we wake up to emails about job prospects and unemployment insurance. We brush our teeth before eleven a.m., in accordance with tradition. We ritually update our resumes and polish up our websites. We call the unemployment people, with the eager expectation of being on hold. We eat the celebratory meal of salad. We get stuff done, because that is the nature of this Reality Day holiday, and we are nothing if not enthusiastic about the holidays. ANY holidays.

It also bears mentioning that I'm days--hours, maybe!--from closing on my very first home. This is the exciting end to a long process; my offer was accepted in August, and now it's January, and if you want to talk about wallpaper or window coverings or my vision for the living room,  I can oblige you allllll daaaaay lonnnng. I'm already planning the housewarming party and daydreaming about sunny afternoons reading on the back patio. All of these happy new-home things are coming...AFTER I've scaled the mountain of paperwork, packing, cleaning, move-scheduling, electrician-calling (what kind of person, I ask you, installs a thermostat on the side of the heater?), address-changing, landlord-wrangling work. This work is not, of course, a surprise. We have hurried up and then waited, and hurried up and waited, and hurried up and waited. (Mortgage lenders also take Winter Break.) And when does it all begin? Reality Day! Hurrah! Here's some newspaper! Let's all pack something fragile!

I realize that I am not the only one celebrating Reality Day today. Millions--billions?--of people around the world are walking into cold, quiet offices today, trying to remember what exactly it is they're doing there. They're removing the holiday music from their iTunes to avoid the confluence of Shuffle and Bing Crosby in June. They're finishing up the last of the See's candy and sweeping up the last (they hope) of the Christmas tree needles from the living room floor. And this is why I think Reality Day should be afforded holiday status: we're gearing up, we're ritualizing, we're collectively adjusting. It's a thing. We're all doing it together anyway; why not build a holiday around it?

Or maybe I just want one last day to celebrate before it's really January.

Happy Reality Day.

Houses

The place where I live is under construction. It's been like this for a good six weeks now: no parking because of the scaffolding in the driveway, strange men peering through my (frosted) bathroom window the second the clock strikes 8:01 a.m., water off water on water off water on, bang bang ping whack whack whack ka-THUNK. This weekend, all of my windows were plasticked over and taped--they're painting the outside of the building, which I think/hope is the last stage of all this--so that it felt like a space capsule. No air, no view, except the sunset through the plastic (see above). It's all necessary, I think; the building is pre-war, and now it has a new roof, new windows, new plumbing, new landscaping, a few freshly renovated units, possibly a new skylight in the foyer (was it always there, and I never noticed?), fewer dead or dying trees hanging around, and a new coat of paint. Good job, building! Now, I would like my parking spot back. 

The good/ironic news is that, with any luck, I won't be living there much longer--I'm trying to grab the very tail end of this low housing market and buy a place. I've already gotten and given up one house, a sweet brick cottage that I loved until the home inspector told me that, among other things, it was going to fall down in an earthquake. Today, my stomach leaps every time I get an email: I'm waiting to hear about an offer I made on another place, a lovely flat--that's what I'm going to call it, my "flat"--just four blocks from where I live now. It's probably unwise of me to say so much so early, but I'll just tell you that it's big and sunny, in a great neighborhood, with a beautiful shared yard. Fingers crossed.

A Trip to the Playground

This is a draft I wrote here last fall and never finished: 

I went back to LA this weekend.

(I feel like I forgot to tell you all so much about LA. I moved there just about a year ago, and moved back to the Bay Area nine months later. It was not at all what I expected--so much better, mostly--


The most surprising thing about LA was, after nine months, how much I liked it there--I fully believe that moving north to my family, my friends, my cat, and a pitch-perfect writing job (with income!) was the obvious right choice, but I also think LA will always mean a little bit of fun and magic to me.


I've long thought that my ability to prioritize the fun of LA over the soul-sucking drudgery of LA was directly related to my loosey-goosey relationship with supporting myself through the industry. I was poor there, interning part-time for a production company and teaching SAT prep courses to pay the bills, but I had it pretty good. I worked on a major lot; my production company bosses were real, working producers and treated me like a person; I didn't become an overnight success, but I wasn't hating life in hopes of landing my dream job, either.  It wasn't sustainable--in fact, my job in San Francisco surfaced just as the "human happiness vs. professional sacrifice" conversation was coming to a head--but I was able to live there and work there without succumbing to my very worst fear: sacrificing my professional youth for a professional future that wouldn't happen.


Now, LA is like the Land of Zero Responsibility: I go there and I have friends, and memories, and places I love--but I have no obligation.


It was strange and exciting going back. I have the hardest time believing I was there for so long--I have far too many memories

Reading this now, even unfinished and with a nonsensical final phrase, I love it. It's all the things I always want to say about LA. It's the truth about a short, weird period in my life, and I'm glad I was able to get it down somewhere.

I visited LA again a couple of weekends ago and felt the same way about it. A lot of people have terrible, soul-deadening experiences there, and maybe it would have gotten to me eventually, but as it is, the LA of my memory is mostly a land of the golden hour, of fire pits on the beach, of sangria in mason jars, of late-night pie (or French toast sandwiches with chocolate, peanut butter, and bananas) with friends, of sleeping late and floating in the pool with a book. Especially now that my responsibilities lie elsewhere, LA is a playground. It's nice to have a playground, especially one where the other kids are nice and we sometimes watch Downton Abbey together in our jammies.

Again, I'm not sorry I left. My job here is about a thousand percent better--weirder and more fun--than ninety-nine percent of the jobs I could have gotten in Hollywood. That's what we call a lot percent better. Here, I have people. I have a cat. I have a church that loves me. I have an apartment of my very own, which I will someday decorate like an adult. Here is great. Here is now. Here is within a half-day's drive of the playground, which is also nice.

Let's do lunch, LA. I'll have my people call your people.

Happy New Year

One of the best things about living in California is that, on the second of January, the following things can happen: t-shirt weather; a hike to the ocean, with waterfalls; snacks with friends on the cliffs above the beach; whale sightings at sunset.

Happy new year, everybody.

12 of 12: September

12 of 12! Welcome. Credit and thanks to Chad Darnell for a) inventing and b) hosting! Onward.

7:11 - So so SO much more awake than I would like to be.

8:10 - Sherlock surveys the scene and keeps the stuffed mice under control. It's good to have him around. (For safety reasons, you know.)

 1:05 - Baby shower leftovers: fancy mac-and-cheese and chicken-apple pigs in blankets. Lunch of champions, obviously.

 1:06 - There are a lot of weird off-brand chihuahuas in the world, but Coco here is not one of them. She's awesome and adorable, even when she's trying to charm me out of my pigs in blankets.

 1:35 - Scenic 3rd St., Dogpatch, lunchtime.

 6:20 - Driving into the sun, headed to the Mission...

 6:23 - ...where I drive UP Dolores St....

 6:24 - ...and back DOWN Dolores St.

 6:25 - The actual mission. It's super pretty.

 9:45 - Home from (sadly unphotographed) dinner, and deciding I need to refresh my Neko Case collection. As one does.

 10:02 - Sherlock helps.

 10:20 - So, you know how everybody says this show is great? They are not lying. IT IS GREAT.  You should watch it.

Happy September, everybody.

12 of 12: July

12 of 12! July. Chad Darnell. Yup.

6:51 - Up.

7:43 - Everybody loves a girl with her own tire gauge and needlenose pliers...right?

9:03 - Welcome to San Francisco! Happy July! Here are your mittens.

10:40 - The Standard Deviants production office: where the magic happens.

11:17 - Morning Becomes Eclectic on KCRW, one of a number of things I brought back with me from LA.

12:30 - Picking up lunch at kitchenette. Yup...that's a garage. Where I got my lunch.

12:34 - That's "no relish," as in green olives, because they are the fru-its of the de-vil, as are all brined vegetables.

12:42 - Grilled eggplant and heirloom tomato sandwich with feta on green-onion slab bread, with a side of Vietnamese-style caramel corn (caramel, peanuts, fish sauce, chiles, lime). Not cheap, but not bad.

6:23 - Traffic meltdown in the East Bay. Quick! Shorter and red, or longer and yellowish?

6:37 - Aaaand longer and yellowish wins it.

7:30 - At least dinner's waiting for me when I get home. ...I am Don Draper.

8:40 - A walk in the wind, minus headphones, because one can really only listen to so much NPR before things get a little crazy. Obviously.

12 of 12: June

12 of 12! Welcome! Kudos to Chad Darnell, originator and keeper of the flame.

8:31 - Up, and not too early. As it should be.

9:00 - Cereal stew: Special K with Red Berries + Kashi GoLean Crunch chaser.

9:16 - The way things should be.

10:40 - I moved last Saturday and started a new job on Monday, so this is pretty much how things are right now. Stuff'll get put away...someday?

11:00 - Basket of cat.

12:24 - The Old Navy dressing room, where I try on half the store and buy exactly nothing that I can wear to work.

1:20 - This is probably only funny if you know my dad and his twin passions for Rubio's and building stuff.

1:37 - Al Zampa Bridge, southbound. (It only goes southbound.)

2:50 -Visiting for a friends-and-family screening of Cars 2, thanks to my pal (and Pixar rendering guru) Susan.

5:07 - Eeee! A picture with the Pixar lamp and ball is like Disneyland for grownups.

5:48 - Continuing my quest to assemble a proper work wardrobe, with mixed results. (I didn't buy the dress; I did buy fancy new jeans.)

9:40 - Strawberry rhubarb pie from Ikeda's, which would have been worth the trip to Reno even without, like, graduations and family events and details like that.

Going places

I just bought a plane ticket to Reno.

Let me tell you a little about this trip: I will fly out of LAX at 8:05. IN THE MORNING. Do you know how early I will have to be at the airport for this to happen? And do you know how far before that time  rush hour traffic begins? Then I will fly to Reno. Reno! Which is as cheesy as, and yet not as exciting as, Las Vegas! Then I will attend my youngest cousin's high school graduation. Now: I am very fond of my youngest cousin, and I am more than happy to attend any events in her honor, but a three-hour list of strangers' children, read aloud, is--I'm sorry to say--quality knitting time, at best (except, of course, for the part where we stand up and whoop and holler, because we are a classy bunch).


Still: I am so excited.  I get to go somewhere! It's been awhile: since driving west from DC eighteen months ago, I have made many trips between Los Angeles and San Francisco, plus exactly one weekend road trip from Los Angeles to Phoenix. That's it. I haven't been on a plane since August. And I owe so many visits: by rights, Glenna should be dragging me all over Toronto by now, and let's not even talk about how many times I'll have to go to Seattle to make up for my college roommate's willingness to come to me in my hour of poverty. And the East Coast! It's been entirely too long since my last back-porch Sunday lunch with my aunt and uncle. I haven't had ciders at Deacon Brodie's and dinner at Gazala Place with Lauren, or a sleepover with Sarah, or been furniture shopping with my brother, in just a million years. And I'm a little mad at Broadway for having so much stuff I want to see (The Normal Heart with Jim Parsons and Lee Pace! Company with Neil Patrick Harris and Katie Finneran and Stephen Colbert and everybody else in the world!) when they know I can't make it. Rude, right?

But Reno. RE-NO! It's beautiful to me, like a corny, smooshy song from the 70s. It's going to be a million degrees, and I'm all, Excellent for strapless dresses! I will be sharing a hotel room with my parents, which in my mind just means Extra bonding time! It's all an exotic getaway, with suitcases and hotel continental breakfasts (maybe with those make-your-own waffle bars!) and my very own TSA scanner/pat-down dilemma! The excitement of it all: be still my heart!

So, see you all in Nevada. I'll be the one cheering for everything.

12 of 12: April

Heyyyy, 12 of 12! Credit to Chad Darnell, guru and gracious host.

Anyway:

7:34 - Up, suspiciously early for a sleep-in day. 

8:10 - Out for a run. Looking  a little hippy, there, shadow! What gives?

8:16 - Running down Triunfo Canyon Road, which I always call TRIUNFO! Canyon Road, emphasis on the TRIUNFO!

9:13 - There is nothing quite like the realization that you are shaving your legs with the equivalent of a bladeless twig, and that Target sells a six-month supply for like $7.

10:11 - If there was ever a question, this grocery list in progress is further proof that I am my father's daughter.

11:47 - Cramming my eighteen pounds of groceries into a single basket, as you do, because using a cart is so much lamer than hunchbacking it around the store with an overloaded basket. Obviously.

12:15 - Throwing together some Sweet Pea and Tuna Salad for a few days' worth of lunches, and listening to everything on my iTunes with a listened-to rate of exactly one. Recommendations: Find some hidden treasures, and follow up with a mint or twelve.

12:50 - Yesterday, I used the last of my Christmas gift cards to buy Tina Fey's new book. (Thanks, Brydon!) The problem, here, is that I have things to do, and now I don't want to do any of them. I just want to read hilarious and embarrassing, yet oddly uplifting, stories about growing up and becoming a TV writer.

1:25 - Speaking of things to do: Have I mentioned that I write book reports for work? Why did nobody tell me this was an option? Here, my thoughts on a surprisingly well-written zombie book.

6:13 - This is how Starbucks gets you: Just the right armchair, just the right afternoon light, just the right level of white noise, just the right kind of music to drown out via Frightened Rabbit on headphones, just the right kind of milk and sugar without ever having to buy more. If I ever get any writing done, it was probably there.

7:33 - It is, in my opinion, one of the great secrets of home cooking that roasted asparagus tastes an awful lot like potato chips. (Plus fish. And potatoes, which also taste like chips with the proper application of olive oil and salt.)

8:40 - Yes, this is our freezer. Yes, it is full of Drumsticks. No, it is not always like this. Yes, I had an intense conversation with myself about the importance of one Drumstick per day. Not two. ONE.

Happy twelfth, everybody!