At my 40th bday last August. More blue portraits here.
So, I jetted out of the house this morning before six, in the dark, to hit the local coffee spot before I started the long commute to The Job. The main street near my house is small-town quaint and in the predawn it was precious and dormant still. But when I opened the doors to the coffee spot, it was like entering a night club. Such a commotion of conversation, many of the chairs filled; a local biking club geared up in blue and white spandex and cleats chugging down espressos before they yelled out, Let's Ride! I gave the barista my order and asked, "It is six in the morning, yes?" We had this conversation in New York, about how NY'ers live late and CA'ians start early. But this was ridiculous.
I hit the highway to the debut of the day. Bold, melon-colored stripes cut across budding blue in a Look At Me kind of way, and I responded. I'm a great audience for a new day. There's something about the privacy of dawn that makes me gush over almost anything presented to me in that vacuum. I blasted Raising Sand, which we've been discussing over at Maven's Place. I tried to think how I could put Dawn on a cake. It all goes back to cake. Listen, I built a site solely for Rivera Baking. Check that out regularly here.
Incidentally, I felt like a million bucks in that photo above. That's not hard to tell. Fancy, I was, and I ain't mad at the occasional fanciness. No ma'am.
Speaking of sassy, I saw Viggo Mortensen on Wilshire Boulevard a week or so ago. He was within conversational distance, about ten feet away, getting into an old Ford truck wearing scruffy clothes and a short beard. We caught eyes. I like to say we had a nanosecond, but he looked more surprised that I recognized him in his Regular Guy disguise. He was extremely bad-ass handsome. When I told Mandy about it she said, "You didn't hop into the passenger side of the truck?" I said, "I had the kids with me." "Well, next time," she said.
The LA Marathon is Sunday. I had a terrible dream the night before last that I was trying to get out of it. I woke up nervous for the first time about it all. I took my last long walk on Sunday along the ocean, a mile so was dipped in pre-spring showers. I felt pretty good, but wondered what exactly had I gotten myself into. I finish what I start, though. Eesh. As far as the initiative is going, I believe we will make the number of signatures by the skin of our teeth. It's ridiculously tight, but god bless the people at Californians for Humane Farms as they are still feverishly counting away in these last few days. If you'd still like to send in a lil' marathon sponsorship, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org, but mainly send me your thoughts on Sunday morning to push me to the finish.
I love my husband because he’s kind of a dick. But he’s soft with me and his lip quivered at our wedding. I love my daughters. They’re brilliant and funny, and I’m here to kick down mountains that get in their way. I’m a vegan, and all is right in my world because of it. I can still beat the neighborhood in HORSE because I have a bad-ass set shot. Justice is served well through fair food, and scarcity would be a myth if we shared more, damn. Yo soy una mezcla which leaves me mixed up sometimes. My commute bike’s name is Loops and she’s my favorite kind of car. I wish I had written Chronicle of a Death Foretold. I’ve endured 54 hours of tattoo work. But above all, I fiercely believe in the underdog.
"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" - Kerouac (As told to me by Marigoldie)