The Weird Witch of the West

I agree to an awful lot of things.

"Will you be the emcee for the kid's Halloween activity at church?"

"Sure."

"Dressed as a witch?"

"Uh, is it too late to say no?"

Witch is not in my limited costume repertoire, so I had to borrow the pointy hat and cape. They got a witch with argyle socks and purple hair. That ought to teach them a lesson.

Pontiac blues

It was a trip to be pumping gas and have the identical car pull up behind me yesterday. Out jumps a young black kid dressed for work at a gas station or restaurant . . . he had an apron on.

I shouldn't have been surprised, since there are plenty of red Pontiac Grand-Ams on the road. It just reminded me that I do, in fact, drive a red Grand Am. Most of the time I manage to forget that.

I've been conflicted about my car since the day I drove it off the lot. I just wanted something inconspicuous (maybe black, blue or gray) and practical, with a back seat big enough to lug a bike or a small piece of furniture. It's not any of those things. Although it IS reliable, which is nice. And the price was right. Plus, I was desperate.

But I hate that people look at me driving around in this silly red car with a FIN on the back and assume it has something to do with who I am. Like maybe a Mary Kay lady who came up short of the sales needed for the pink Cadillac and got the red Grand-Am instead. Mary Kay has since graduated to newer Pontiac models for consolation prizes, so there probably aren't many made-up women driving my car these days.

Nope. It's just me and the teenage boys. Lovely. I'd sell it if it weren't paid off.

Hello netipot

It's cold in Charlotte. . . supposed to dip below freezing again tonight. I finally caved and turned on the heater yesterday. Now I have stuffed sinuses and a headache. Is there some scientific explanation or am I just unlucky?

Royally irritating rumpus

The Wild Things live upstairs from me and they're always making a royal rumpus. I've only ever seen one woman coming in and out of the apartment, but I'm convinced she's more than one for all the clunking and clomping. AT ALL HOURS. Someone warned me about the thin walls before I moved in. I didn't realize it would be this irritating. I think it might be rude to say something to her . . . how could she possibly interpret it as anything other than a criticism of her weight or physical grace?

But seriously. Does every step need to be that of an elephant in heels?

On a related note, the new movie by Spike Jonze/David Eggers is out and making lots of money. I'm as big a fan of Max and the Wild Things as you'll find, but the film's not getting spectacular reviews. Still, the preview featured Arcade Fire music. How can I not go to a movie that pulls so overtly at my indie heart strings?!

A message from the planet Pluto

I know, I know. Technically Pluto is not a planet. Neither is Charlotte. But for the time and hassle it takes to get back from a visit home, it may as well be another galaxy. Charlotte is actually very accessible and affordable from a number of cities like New York and Los Angeles. But getting here from Salt Lake City requires an entire day and at least one - usually two - layovers.

Right after I moved to Charlotte, Delta discontinued its one direct flight from SLC. At the time, I didn't realize the dire consequence of that: it has all but eliminated the hope of quick trips to be part of family events.

I'll spare you the details of my latest ordeal, which included a red-eye, a missed connection and a very long wait in a New York airport. The short of it is was able to spend Saturday and Sunday with family en route back from a week of training in LA. While in the city of angels, I saw the Disney Music Hall designed by Frank Gehry.


While in Utah I did a lot of snuggling with my two-week-old nephew Ryan. Guess which one was more fun?!


Dear Delta people:

I'm begging you to please, please, please reinstate a direct flight to Salt Lake City, the absence of which condemns me to outer space. There is a new baby in Utah that has great need of my visits to become familiar with my auntly magnificence.

Yours truly,
julie

We represent the Lollipop Guild.

I'm in LA this week for some training - the details of which are mostly boring. But I'm staying at a hotel right across from the Sony Pictures soundlot where the Wizard of Oz was filmed and a few blocks from where they burned Atlanta in Gone with the Wind.

Our hotel is supposedly the spot where the munchkins of Oz liked to hang out after hours and get really drunk and wild. Can you imagine? Just a bunch of boring business types here now, alas.

One of these things is not like the other

I went hiking yesterday at a perfect lovely spot about and hour and a half from Charlotte where I came to grips with reality: Hiking in North Carolina will never be the kind of hiking I grew up loving in Utah.

Out here it's more like the hiking they did when I lived in France, which they called "randonee." The translation is closer to a "walk" in the woods. To call it "hiking" is like serving a bowl of Rocky Road ice cream with one marshmallow and two nuts: technically accurate, but hardly satisfying. There's no crisp mountain air when you get to the peak. And you have to carry a small tree branch as you walk to keep spider webs out of your face.

Out West, the mountains are young and frisky and run you ragged. Eastern mountains are so old and worn down, their trails are lined with cobwebs.

(The photo on the left is Morrow Mountain State Park when I hiked yesterday. On the right are the Wasatch Mountains of my home.)