Saturday, February 23, 2008

Gratuitous fountain shot meets random Christmas story.

I spent Christmas 2007 at my mom's house. The following disturbing events transpired.

There was a package of meat which was probably left by mom's friend Doña Tere a couple of weeks ago in the recesses of the oven to defrost, and lay festering there, forgotten, until Christmas morning, when my step-sister Eva lit up the oven and slid in the enchiladas she'd been carefully assembling for an hour.

The oven lit up like an inferno. At first it seemed like it was an overlooked plastic dish burning, because mom stores extra dishes and pots and pans in the oven since she almost never uses it for its intended purpose. At one point the flames were shooting from the oven about three feet out, and my sisters Angela and Socorro, and Eva, stood around it wondering if suffocating the fire with potholders would do the trick.

As Eva wondered aloud if the fire department should be called, I picked up the phone in the living room and started dialing 911. At which of course, Angela and Socorro started hollering "NOOOO! DON'T CALL THEM! HANG UP, HANG UP!"

I hung up, but the 911 dispatcher called back and asked what the situation was. I replied "never mind, my sisters think they have a burning gas oven under control." The dispatcher said "OK ... um, you're sure you don't want the fire department notified?" I looked at my sisters whose potholdered hands were smothering the flames with empty crockery, and sighed "yes" and hung up. All ended well, laughs all around, sort of all around. Sigh.

--- And about the photos above, yeah, so totally not related to what I just related, but I likes me some purty pictures. I would've had at least one pic of the oven disaster since I had my camera with me to capture the Christmas warmth and all, but my mom would've just knocked my Nikon out of my hands with a sartén.
Today's pics are of a turtle close-up and a long-shot of the "Fountain of Life" centerpiece of the Cathedral City Civic Center. .... hmm, looks like I have a thing for fountains.

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Beware of the Bono.

Well, hello there! ... whoever is 'there.' Anyway, welcome to my one and only public blog. I've been creeping out fellow Bloggers since 2006 with my comments on their blogs. They must click on my profile, and take a good, hard look at ... NOTHING. I'm afraid that makes me look like a mean little blog freeloader.
I've had just one private blog since 2006; I made it for my eyes only because it's a sort of bookmark blog where I cut and paste the URLs to blogs I want to keep visiting, plus assorted random internet flotsam, gathered while killing precious time, which thrills only yours truly.
I now have two more private blogs. One is a sort of writing journal and personal rant zone. The other one is the online version of the kind of exercise journal/tracker I've kept since forever on paper and ink. So I'm planning on posting in here whatever I feel is not-too-sleep-inducing from my real life, including some old stuff from my writing-journal-rant-zone blog.
Oh -- about the photo above: It's a lifesize stone Sonny Bono sitting on his very own fabulous fountain on Palm Canyon Drive in Palm Springs, my tourist-trap hometown. Palm Springs loves the late Sonny Bono. Palm Springs loves anyone, dead or alive, who will keep its "celebrity playground" image alive and kicking for the tourist trade.
When I see this picture I'm reminded of the conversation I overheard between two panhandlers having a smoke next to the fountain one night. One guy was going on about how he swears on his mother's grave that he knows a guy who worked on the pool for the contractor who saw the statue-makers bring the real Sonny Bono's corpse into the workshop, and that Sonny Bono's body is encased in the statue, in his words, "For FUCKING REAL, dog!" I was in a somewhat tipsy state that night, as I stopped with my ex-boyfriend to take in the scene, but I swear I saw stonework Sonny ever-so-slightly turn his head. So go ahead, click and enlarge on old Sonny ... if you dare.
There. A desert urban legend is born, or not. And I'll post again soon, I hope.