pretty little things

september 2005. i was a student in san francisco, living a weekly double-decker sandwich of work-class-play-class-work (the "play" is the bacon, obviously). one assignment was to write a radio essay and i decided to adapt one of my blogs, cleaning and sculpting to make it work. as i read it now it sounds a bit soft and hokey for me, but i know a lot of the grit was removed to make it academic caliber material. hope it's not lost on you.

It’s Wednesday, the tail end of August, and for those of you who live in San Francisco, you know this to be an uncharacteristically warm day. I’m exiting the bus at the train station, on my way to school.

The seductive blaze scorches down and I feel love inside my veins, as the city that has become my own teases me with hints of summer that I know will be reneged at any moment. Entering the station as my iPod hums its pensive melody, I have that only-in-the-movies trite voiceover episode when I realize that this life is actually composed of a seemingly infinite assemblage of moments. I notice the pretty little things, like that solar verve drenching my shoulders. All of a sudden, I notice.

At school, a handful of hours later, my sensations increasingly acute on account of my heightened cognizance, I experience a restrained breed of joy upon discovering that one of the huge red pleather booths in the student center is vacant. I slide in. I sip my coffee and work on a crossword but my attention migrates, as the constant foot traffic outside the huge neighboring window is far too consuming. In this spot, voyeurism is key.

A sweet-looking girl approaches the booth that I’m rather rudely dominating. She has that subtle Euro style, but I can’t quite tell if she is foreign or not until she speaks.

Girl: Would you mind if I sit?

Ahhh – German, perhaps.

Me: No, please do.

And somehow I actually mean this. We sit, across from one another, without speaking but the silence is comfortable. I have my crossword and she her notebook, figuring out something of seemingly great importance. Our eyes meet briefly and we smile, both strangers trying to be friendly in delicate ways. It doesn’t take long for me to resume the spectatorship; the circus out there is entirely hypnotic. “Too fat for those jeans,” I think, in my standard asshole inner-monologue. “Cute shoes,” I note. “Tall girl, short guy, holding hands. Gross. Good for them, I guess.” OK, so I’m mildly judgmental. Luckily, sweet Euro girl (we’ll call her Herta to preserve some anonymity) doesn’t hear the contents of my awful head. I turn and look at her.

Me: I can’t stop watching! It’s so interesting.

Herta smiles and there is a faint nod of accordance. She is one of these shy-till-you-get-to-know-her types, much unlike me. I wonder what that would be like? I am not giving up just yet.

Me: Where are you from?

Herta: Frankfurt…Germany.

Me: Oh, wow. When did you come here?

Herta: Umm, a week ago?

Her accent is not the typical bulky German, but rather a smoother Euro tone that is almost like singing. We continue in this fashion for a while and she becomes increasingly affable. After twenty minutes or so, I say I must go, but we exchange email addresses and smiles. Now I have passed on the mesmerizing booth seat to someone deserving and I feel good about myself. Makes up for the abundance of judgment, perhaps, and the universe is back on track.

And just like that, as I walk away, the only-in-the-movies voiceover resumes. These are the little things. The way that we laugh, without telling ourselves to do so, at things that amuse us, stir us up and knock us down. Or that string of song notes that twists our tummies and then lets go, and we close our eyes to imagine what the sound looks like. These are the pretty little things, and those who neglect to spot such gems are left coming up short. Yet when they do, they’ll see that five-second sun storms, red booth staring routines, and German strangers are enough to make a day priceless and insurmountable.

let's do some thinking out loud

this blog has been good to me. a receptacle for a varied array of content, it has let me feel like my hands are always close enough to something that i can get them dirty. say what i wanna say. do it my way. sashay, shante.

in the pre-sheez-its era, i took to myspace (oh, don't act like you don't know) to throw some words around and try to make someone notice. a lot of sociological commentary, some culinary experiments, a couple quasi-rap-poems. it was good fun, and kept the verbiage flowing like franzia. but then i wanted to make it more legitimate, swoop up my own domain--like moving out of an apartment and into a house--and get real.

so that brought me here: random and somewhat tasty treats from the delsheez. this space has gone through phases to mimic those of my life. upon entry into the guild of the unemployed, i spewed my revelations on freedom. while globetrotting, i jotted down my reflections of the world which were at times trivial and/or offensive, but always honest.

and now i have come to question...

does it lack identity or can it be a canvas that i continually add to, making the landscape more complex and maybe even more confusing? i am always changing so i suppose the sheez-its must follow suit.

music, food, weirdness, street art, dance, words, sunlight. my curiosities abound.

i will continue to bring them. what you take is on you.

oh, hey, l.a.

it is kind of just a known fact that i can't bury my nose in my laptop all day digging around for a job. i mean, right? i need balance, and so do you. some time outdoors, some time eating sandwiches, some time eavesdropping on the conversations at the local coffee bean & tea leaf.

so on one of my outings i checked out some local art at the bergamot station gallery cluster in santa monica. some pieces were just kind of weird, but some cool. here is one nice little homage to the city of angels:

where will i end up today?

ohhhhhello

that's it. i'm fired. i'm firing myself.

i'm like a deadbeat parent. always with the apologies like, "ohhhh i won't ever leave you again, i mean it this time, timmy!"

but we both know it's not true.

i'm still around, and i'll figure out a way to make this work.

delsheeZOO: the final chapter

hello, faithful friends!

well, the time has come. i am no longer a pooper-scooper. i am free.

i was contacted by the home owners this evening to say that they returned and everything looks fine but they inquired when i last saw one of the cats and if i knew how long one of the crabs had been buried under the sand.

i told him i saw the cat last night; she's probably just running around in the hood. and the crab was out on the town a day or so ago but has been making a habit of going down under from time to time.

he then followed up to tell me he's sure the crab is fine in there. and that since his last message, the cat had come home.

"we looked!
when we saw him
step in on the mat!
we looked!
and we saw him!
the cat in the hat!"

this all leads me to the assessment that indeed, on my watch, ALL EIGHT SURVIVED. i was relatively ill-equipped for this task, but i'm not stupid enough to blow something so simple.

so there you have it. i have washed my hands of this and emerge a wild, impatient woman, no more inclined to adopt a pet and no less inclined to eat meat.

oh and p.s. if you know anyone going out of town, give 'em my number.

delsheeZOO: day eight

eight days! eight days! they lasted eight days!

perhaps the more shocking revelation is that i lasted eight days.

tomorrow morning i will take the dogs on their final walk, spray the crabs for the last time, and spoon out the cat food to mark my (black) swan song here at the manor.

my ultimate post--the conclusion, closure, and confirmation of success and survival--will be forthcoming. until then, i thank you for your interest in my trivial travails and bid you good night.

delsheeZOO: day seven

not much to report today but i didn't want to slack off on my commitment to post daily. i could definitely give you details of the pooping that went down but i will assume you are extremely disinterested in such things and would rather just review the NFL playoff schedule. let me just say that if i never see another canine caca in my life it'll be too soon.

tomorrow is day one at work and almost the end of my duties. everyone is still very much alive, though my patience may be dying a slow death.

guten nacht.

delsheeZOO: day six

¡feliz año nuevo, devoted readers of this ridiculous animal saga! i now have only 3 days left of my duties. the biggest challenge at this time is that i start work on monday (after an 18 month employment hiatus) and i'm nervous enough about how my body will rise & shine on time and how my brain will function in a professional capacity without the stress of tending to the farm in the wee hours of the morning. as long as mickey doesn't try to fly the coop again and the rest stay alive and cooperative, i should be in good standing to close out tuesday morning with a winning record.

my mom happily accompanied me to walk the dogs this morning. see, this is why moms are pretty great. she didn't offer to pick up the poop this time (though she did earlier this week, SCORE) but she was all fired up about the adventure, which kind of prevented me from getting all angry at the dogs when they act up and try to mess with me.

still a slew of floating dead crickets in the frog tank. i am pretty close to confirming he's a bit anorexic. (can one be "a bit" anorexic? perhaps it's more of an all-or-nothing kind of thing.)

the felines are fine.

the crabs are...crabby.

i'm shooting for a lot more status quo til my term here is up. tuesday, i can see you on the horizon and i can't wait until that moment when i wrap you in my arms and tell you how i've longed for your touch.

it will be magical.