Two months in NYC. Still alive, maybe?

•Work. Vaseline Intensive Care Lotion. 101 concepts a day. All to be shot down. THIS is why you guys get good working in an agency. And also why you lose hope.
•A month in, oops, sorry, going on vaca to Mexico!
•Mexico:
In a nutshell. Troy, Carla, Mike, Shelley, Joel and me. Zihuatenejo (Yes, like in Shawshank Redemption). Cool village next to big touristy Ixtapa. 10 room hotel, with thatched roof and wood doors that open on amazing pool, down the street from ocean. Amazing. Pool, snorkeling, beach, guac and chips for lunch everyday. Margaritas and fish every night. Thanks Marta, the amazing bartender and chef. A little haggling in the village. A little translation and illegal drugs at the doctor's office. A little open mic night at Rick's bar (Thanks Joel.) More to be added about Mexico from the crowd. Anyone? You, too can be famous on my blog!

BACK to NYC to REALITY:
•Movers came a day late after getting an 18 wheeler stuck only 8 blocks from our apartment. 18 wheeler had to be towed. Oops.
•Cell phone doesn't work in my own apartment. (New home #: 718.857.2204) I shiver in the cold and talk fast outside.
•Movers arrive at 7:30 am. Thank god Joel didn't wear my lingerie the night before.
(New address: 154 8th Ave #1R Brookly NY 11215)
•We unpack sans coffee, heroine, cereal, and all the other things normal people do to wake up.
•I rush to work, look busy for 3 hours, then take NJ Transit to Linden, NJ--the official hair on the armpit called Elizabeth, NJ.
(How depressing, a major city named after me and one need not be proud.)
•I arrive in Linden, and pick up our precious Nissan Sentra which has been shipped. It's nice to see an old friend.
•I make it across Staten Island. Nissan makes it across pocked highways. Everything in tact.
FAST FORWARD
•Thanksgiving: Me in Connecticut (Joel in Atlanta, he got to escape): My insane family...Aunt Sandy is reading my aura. Within first 5 minutes of the meal, there's talk of Aryan Samigidian ancestors, how much we need Bush to finish the war he started, homosexuality (nature or nurture), and how Mom thinks I should run for president. Somehow in this diverse gene pool that belongs to me (really?), we have fun.
• Joel and I unpack. To test any relationship, skip the road trip...move together and unpack together. If you can get through this, you can survive anything.
• Joel and I love Park Slope. The park and it's rolling hills will be perfect for sledding and cross country skiing (anyone know where I can get some used ones?) I love the fact that I can go for a quick run before work. We love the restaurants close by on 5th Ave. We love the architecture. Very old, very NY. We love the short skyline, so that all that can be seen is a mix of ancient cathedral towers kissing the tops of the the ancient synagogues, trees and blue sky.
• One drawback for Joel. He feels a bit of a yuppie when he tells people where we live. I'm 31 years old. I'm OK with being a yuppie. Yes, my conflicted activist Portland Amnesty AIDS counselor insides is fighting among the yuppie landscape. Better start volunteering somewhere fast...

TTFN. More later...

Day Three at JWT:

I wait for a creative brief for a new assignment for Vaseline Intensive Care. Did you know that JWT is a new agency for them? Did you know they now have 12 different types of products with new packaging? This is me trying to rev up for my 3:00 meeting today. This is the first day I will officially do some work at JWT.

The reprieve from work has been welcome, since I've been apartment hunting. An apartment Monday night, across from Blake's (Baby Boy's sis...awesome Diva that will be my new best friend) place in Park Slope. AMAZING back deck. Strange layout though. Example: To get on to the deck, one must go through big pink bathroom. Conversation may sound like this: "Joel, I know you need to finish that article in Wired. But, how long do I have to wait to get on the deck. Finish reading on the couch!" Then I saw another place today, with a "study" barely the size of a futon. But, this place had a cool fireplace. But, no outside access. Maybe I'm being too picky, because I just started looking. Yes, definitely being too picky. Need to loosen the list of demands a bit. Not taking these apartments may be a huge regret. But, can't live with regrets...poison, I tell you, poison.

Oh yeah, work? People are very cool. Because I freelanced here this summer, I feel like I've already been working here. Surreal. A thanks for everyone's support and help. And a future thanks to all those couches I will crash on here...

My work number: 212.210.6453
Cell number: 503.381.9667

More word at the end of the week, when things really ramp up.

Going to see Chris and Rima's new baby boy this weekend! Can't wait to see Jonukie number 2, named Timothy Adam. I have to figure out how to put pics on this thing.

-King Rants. And Rants a little more...

FIRST DAY AT WORK:

Here's an email I sent out to all those that attended my mini-going away party.

White-walled on white-walled office. No windows. The whirr of
recycled air. It's the 80's style ad agency that talks about knocking
down the walls, "just like Chiat!" But, there are no walls coming down
and the three martini lunches have all sobered. I wait to be briefed
on an assignment. And wait some more.
The only thing that saves me right now are:
1. Radio Paradise on Itunes.
2. My obsession with finding an apartment. And I mean, obsession.

I have bouts of buyer's remorse. What have I done? Have a jumped ship
too soon? Well, being that it took me 4 years to be gainfully
employed, maybe not. What am I doing here? "This isn't my beautiful
house?" (homage: David Byrne). Is this my security card for the
building? Does that mean this is it?

But then I remember. All for a new adventure. All for the challenge.
All in the name of the career. All in the name of, "I wonder what
would have happened if I took that job in NYC?" Because wonder if's
are far more dangerous than anything I know. Because Liz as a drunk
obese 45 year old housewife who whines about what would have happened
if I moved to NY, is not only scary, but ug-ly.

So, why the ramble?

Thanks. A HUGE thanks to everyone who came to Lizapalooza and to
everyone who wanted to but couldn't. I appreciate everything...the
congrats, the good lucks, the gifts (not necessary!), the L.I. Iced
Teas and especially the house (here's to you, Fishcake). And of
course, to Joel who put it all together...

I'll be back in a month to really say goodbye and party late and have
lunch and pack and finish that poncho and do all those things I can fit
into one week...

See everyone soon. Oh, and if you want a pen pal, write back. I have
to create my address book all over again on my email....so I don't have
your addresses handy right now.

Dahnke,
Liz
lizzieking@earthlink.net

I start this blog off with a wonderful quote from a dear and insightful friend. Yes, this quote is about men, but I believe dating and job searching are so closely aligned it's scary.

"...men are so strange..this guy was completely sweating me..wanting me to stay over & commented how nice I looked..etc. etc..then he flipped a complete 360.  he lost interest overnight.  go figure."

Did I lose the job at JWT in NYC? NOT YET. I'm still fighting. I talked to the recruiter today. She apologized for not getting back to me. They are reorganizing the creative department, trying to figure out where to put me, with what account, with what salary. I told her about my job search. It's the reason she called me--to not stop the job search, because this is going to take time. Maybe mid-September until they know anything. They still want to hire me. It's not over yet. Ugh, the agony.

I take it back. Job searching is worse than dating. At least when you date and never get a call again, you can just pretend that the guy died (see great "Sex in the City" episode where Miranda deals with men who don't call back, this way. Except in one episode, the guy did die after the first date and she has to go to his wake.)

J.W.T. Probably not an agency that will die any time soon.

That's the latest. Thanks for reading.

WELL WELL.

Sprint responds to my rage, thusly:

Dear Elizabeth,

I do not blame you for being upset, and I do apologize profusely for
all of the mistakes and delays, which contributed to this very unfortunate
series of encounters.

I have read all of your communications with us and you are absolutely
right: there are no excuses for what occurred with this issue. You
have given us invaluable and constructive feedback, and I especially
appreciate all of the time, which you took to help us understand
exactly what went wrong regarding the transfer of your phone number.

Your feedback has certainly not fallen on deaf ears, and has been shown
to all appropriate personnel who would benefit from it. We do take
suggestions from our customers very seriously and are grateful for your
insights.

It is our intent to treat you with courtesy, respect, and understanding
and to provide the highest quality of service in all areas. We are
sorry that you have been inconvenienced to the extent indicated in your
email.

Roland K.
eCare

To my friends and family...without you, I would be lost.

Update: Since that's what a blog is, as mom says, you want me to check out your what?

I'm in NYC freelancing for JWT. Meeting some really great creatives. Some jaded, bitter, but still hopeful. I like that. So far, I've been working on print and TV for DeBeers, TV for Staples and TV for Schick Razors. Have a I taken a job, and why not? Still waiting, testing things out, trying to figure out if this place has potential.

So far, it is what anyone would expect of a massive ad agency. Lots of focus testing, client is driven by fear...we've spent millions of dollars to produce this...will it sell, will I lose my job, did anyone just see me pick my nose?

It is many creatives (10-12) working on one 30 second TV spot. The American way, it's all about waste.

It is a sea of talent, that goes unnoticed. It is a cubicle the size of a desk with bad migraine lighting and frigid temp. Without my Itunes I would be able to produce nothing. THANK god for you, Steve Jobs.

In the end, the experience in the last couple of weeks can't be compared to anything else. It's eye opening. There is no Land of Canaan. There is life. There is work. And sometimes both are good at the same time. But, both times, not.

In the end, the people here are great. Talented, nice, interesting, fun...etc. At the end of the day lately, that's what matters. For now...

Check here for more updates...soon...

Miss you all...except those of you I have gotten to see recently. Don't miss you. But will in the future.

Love, Liz

7/20/04 King Speaks to Sprint

So the world knows how evil Sprint is, here's my latest rant in the form of a letter I sent to them. Hey Google and Blogspot...if you're going to run ads on my blog, try a Sprint banner...that will help my cause.


Sprint,

Where to begin with the horror that is Sprint. This is the second letter I’ve written and no one responds, cares, nor tries to make me a happy customer. When I ask for the manager, I get things like, “They are not on shift yet.” or “I can’t do that.”

I’ve been unhappy with the customer service at Sprint for a couple of years now. Why didn’t I leave? My number is very important to my business. So, when the FDA pushed through the switch law, I was in. But, I had to wait until my contract with Sprint was up. I was willing to that. As long as I never had to call customer service, as long as nothing went wrong, I could get out without a hassle. But life doesn’t work like this.

By June 26th, 2004, my contract would be terminated. Hallelujah, I almost organized a parade in celebration. I set up that date with T-Mobile to switch my number. Soon, I would be free from Sprint. But, then the following events occurred, ironically to the customer who wanted out more than any other: Me. June 26th passed, no switch. T-Mobile informed me that Sprint would not release my number. Sprint informed me that T-mobile wasn’t being compliant---why wouldn’t they be...I was a new customer switching to them. This song and dance went on day after day after day. But I was reminded that the switch COULD take a week. But, it usually doesn’t. Onward. More than one FULL business and calendar week later, I still didn’t have my number. There were technical difficulties with releasing my number. What was wrong with my number: 503.381.9667. What was wrong with these 7 digits? When I called Sprint back, I talked to a customer service representative (representative of Sprint, NEVER the customer). They informed me that I was mistaken...my number had already been released to T-mobile on June 26th. Did it, did it? Is that why I’ve been calling Sprint and T-Mobile for a week straight? When I called T-Mobile, they informed me that Sprint STILL wouldn’t release my number. At this point, it was more than a week and a half. It appeared that I would NEVER get my number back. It was lost in a volleyball game in this abyss called a cell phone company.

And then things got worse. I call Sprint AGAIN, trying to figure out what’s wrong. A representative told me that there was technical difficulty with releasing my number...and that the last rep that I talked to was wrong. That’s it, just wrong. Of course, all this followed up by the robotic canned, “I do apologize, I do apologize, I do, I do...” STOP apologizing and take care of the problem. Then there is no reason to be so apologetic. The latest SNAFU? The time period in which the technicians had to rectify the issue had expired, so my number had to be re- released. So, what Sprint was telling me that because technicians couldn’t fix the problem in over a week, the process had to start all over again. At this point, I was so angry I couldn’t see straight. Thank God, T-mobile had given me a temporary number. Thank God, when I called T-mobile I got a human being who empathized, who cared, who DID NOT read from a script.

So, it’s going on two weeks, Sprint still can’t release my number. Technicians this, technicians on vacation, technicians can’t rectify, technicians went home for the day. Pass the buck here, pass the buck there. Sprint would blame T-mobile. T-mobile blamed Sprint. Someone was lying...who could that be? I would be put on hold by Sprint for twenty minutes while they investigated the problem and then be hung up on.

Then, when I could stand it no more, I called the T-mobile store in Portland, Oregon where I originally signed up. I told them the whole story. I begged them to do something, anything. I was tired of being in the middle of this mess. PLEASE, someone do something. Two hours later, a T-mobile rep called me to tell me that my 503.381.9667 number finally worked. I have no idea what happened, or why I didn’t call the store originally, BUT it worked.

Sprint, you are the worst company on the planet. I am in advertising, so you better believe that I will SMEAR your name on every feedback website, in every publication, in every way possible for the rest of my life. You show no remorse. Your responses are formulaic and canned. I have never received credit or minutes or breaks on any bills in five years. It is disgusting, how little you care about a customer that has been with you for over five years. Will this letter do anything? Probably not. But, at least I wrote it. And at least the one person reading it knows how disgusted I am with you.

Just make a note, because that’s all you do, that I will NEVER pay for another Sprint bill again. If I receive one after this mess, I will burn it. Send another, and I’ll burn it again. You will never see another hard earned dimed of mine again.

No thanks, very sincerely,
Elizabeth King
fedupspam@yahoo.com
503.381.9667
Switched

Cali Road Trip 2004:


Monday March 29th:

Lovely, concrete slab you are, I-5 South. Drive and drive until we stop for lunch at the almighty Burger King. It’s Joel’s first Crispy Chicken Sandwich on a corn toasted bun. Already, deep into the heart of Oregon, we see a building with giant plaster mushrooms on top. Why? We’ll never know. It's Oregon. Joel continues to drive. I knit a booty. We drive and drive through forests (Siskiyou Nat. Forest) until we hit Crescent City, Cali. We’re on 101 officially. Do we camp? It’s only 5 pm. We’ve made good time. The weather is sunny and it gives us a boost of energy. So, we drive on. Joel’s back is bothering him--a tough time for a bad back, on a 10 hour drive. We stop where we can. We finally get to a point on 101 that you can see the ocean. We had no idea at this point, just how much of it we’d see. But, the waves engulfing the wind, the wind engulfing the seagulls, and us running to the park bathrooms while we pray they're open.

Hop in the car. 101 is going faster than we think and before we know it, for dinner, we arrive in Arcata. A very quaint little hippie town. We wonder why the homeless would choose here with the wind and rain. We wonder where the famous bagel shop is that came in 2nd to a NYC shop for best bagels in the US. After we park, a nice hippie is closing up the CD shop he works at. We, brazen tourists, pound him with:
Where is the best place to camp? Where should we eat? How far is it here, there, where are we going? Maybe because we made him nervous. Maybe it was the local weed--we heard this is some of the best stuff in the world in these parts. But his twitch was infectious. We followed his rant as he told us where to camp (go back North about 20 minutes--nah ah, Liz King never goes back). He told us, careful of Humboldt county (where we were thinking of camping)--”Crazy crazy weed protectors down there. Camp on someone’s backyard by accident and you’ll run into some dude and his shotgun.” Hmm. “And Leggitt? Weird crazy hippie hicks down there.” As he spoke, his words came out faster and faster making us believe that maybe we should turn around and go home. He rambled on about where to eat. We caught some, but just stood confused. Against his advice, we grabbed a slice of pizza and headed south to camp in Humboldt.

Night. Dark night. We imagine the Redwoods to be majestic, regal, patriotic--if we could see them. But at this hour as we drive down the Avenue of the Giants toward our campsite we just think these trees are dark. We park contemplating if we should head in further to another site, when we hear it. The sound of someone chopping wood. It’s 9 at night. Someone is chopping wood in the site.
Joel: “ I can’t stay here. I can’t fall asleep to the sound of chopping wood.” We drive in circles trying to figure out the best spot and yet the furthest spot from the maniacal wood man. We decide on the center of the site canopied by those oh-so-body guard like trees. We collapse into our bags and pass out. Until...

Liz wakes up. 3 a.m. the neon dial on her watch reads. Rain. So much so, that Joel said later, “I dreamt of pee.” Not drizzle, NW Rain. More like Asian Monsoon has come down just on our tent. So much for the protection of trees. It sounds as though our canopy has run off in search of someone else to protect. I panic. Hear voices from an RV near by. Drunk voices. Loud voices. Why are they up? My laptop. What if someone steals my laptop from the car? I wake Joel. “What if someone steals my laptop from the car?” Joel: “You’re crazy. We’d hear it.” “Can we? I can only hear rain! OK, and those drunk dudes.” That’s it. I’m panicked. So, I dart into the rain, rescue “Snow” from the car, and cradle her inside the dry tent the rest of the night. OK, I have issues.


Tuesday: March 30th: Morning.
We wake. The rain has stopped. Our little REI canvas castle is surrounded by a moat. How royal. There’s nothing to do but get up, pack and be on our way. And then we see what we drove into the night before. They are everywhere. The canopy of trees still there...so, there really was a monsoon that even these trees couldn’t stop. We clean up, and go--where can we see more trees? The Founders Area, hike, trees...whatever this area was called inside Humboldt State Park. The oldest, tallest Redwood. Redwoods toppled over. These behemoths stood tall next to old geasers who couldn’t stand tall anymore. A perfect mile and a half hike photo op--proof that we made it to the Redwoods.

Onward on 101. We see the sign for Leggit--driving slow, watch for crazy weed obsessed farmers, we look for signs for Route 1. Time to leave the trees and hit the coast. But, wait, “Look, drive through the tree!!! Let’s go!” as Liz screeches, spins the car around and heads for the second most touristy thing we have ever done after Alcatraz. Joel groans, hands the capitalistic snake in the booth his three bucks, as we drive through a redwood. A nice place to stop to use the “head” set in the most serene surroundings--lake, geese, ducks, and of course a country store. Joel, “Liz ordered some bark with a side of sap.” As we go, we see a guy in a huge SUV driving through the tree. We root for the tree--get stuck, get stuck! But, the SUV makes it. What a symbolic moment. American car doesn’t fit into 500 year old tree. Damn.
Wait, writer Liz takes a break. Joel takes over....coming soon... wait until he gets back from Vegas. No, really.


Tuesday:
Sunset. Stop at gas station. Nice woman at a gas station tells us that at 6:36 the sun will set. Go to Fisk Mill, there’s a state park. In there, there’s a bluff and the best view of the sunset. She’s right...we get pictures. We are on the edge of the earth, on a bluff with a tiny railing overlooking the pacific. Greatest sunset of all time...except for the one that Joel saw on the Oregon Coast, and Liz left early and missed it but had camera. I know, I know, sorry Joel. That sunset will be forever in your mind.

Head on to Bodega Bay.

Tuesday night: March 30th: Ah, Bodega Bay. Jane’s wonderful “Best Places” book (Thanks Jane!) says that the Bodega Bay Inn is a good cheap place to sleep--and we be tired and hungry. We zip by, it’s right on 101, and decide to eat first. We can’t remember name of restaurant in Bodega Bay--all that mattered was the little sandwich board sign that read, “Fresh Crab.” We peel out. It’s not cheap, but not too bad. Joel inhales every bit of a crab that I never knew existed. I was so tired I could barely eat my anti-Atkins meal of fish and chips. Back in the car, we drive to the wonderful Bodega Bay Inn. It’s 9. It’s closed. It’s 9. It’s closed. WHAT!? How does a motel close? No one anywhere. Should we break the glass, steal a key and maybe no one will notice if we grab a room? Nah. We head over to the Tides Inn--they seem to be the only place open. $109 a night. WHAT!? No, no, we don’t pay that. We’re campers. We just need a bed. He’s snooty. We’re snotty, turn and huff to a pay phone. Call a few other places in the next town over (about a 45 min. drive...but wait is that 45 min. normal driving? Or is that 45 min. 101 curvy can’t see driving? This is the question we ask on our ENTIRE drive down the coast. More later.) We head over to another Hotel. $109 a night. WHAT?! Is this a conspiracy? Yes. We go back to the Tides. Swallow big pride. At least we get a continental breakfast and hot tub. Yippee.. Joel and his old man back scream in unison. We head to the hot tub...yet another moment I’m having trouble enjoying...so so tired, can’t finish, sentence. Crash, and deep sleep.

Wednesday March 31st:
Wakeup. It’s an amazing day. The Tides hotel really is amazing. Huge pool is center court. Lexus. Mercedes. Porsche, oh my. In our world: Haggard tents drying on balcony, bathing suits, Rain fly draped over shower. Nissan Sentra begging us to stay. We don’t listen. Instead, frantically look for my “But they’re polarized!” sunglasses. Ugh. Can’t find them. Maybe the nice woman who told us about sunset has them. I left them there? Ugh. Maybe that’s karma. She helps us find amazing sunset. She gets my sunglasses. Seems right. Panicked. Have to get within cell phone range by 11 a.m for conference call with client. Rush our continental breakfast (oatmeal and fruit, really?) and get on the road again. Took some crazy wrong turn, so we miss Pt. Reyes. But, I don’t mind, since we’ve left Rt. 1, land of no cell service and now hit 101 again in Petaluma. We head for San Fran and arrive by 11. I get a call. Call is pushed to 3. OK...rushed for nothing. Freelance.

It’s OK, we grab cool cheap dishes at Soko’s Hardware in Japantown then meet Will Elliott for lunch at our favorite Dim Sum restaurant. Yum, yum, have no idea what we’re eating, can’t understand anything we’re given, but yum. Spend the afternoon, catching up with friends at ad agencies, dropping off books, not sure why, and sitting in San Fran traffic. As usual, the Presidio is our haven. It’s where we find Mary Michael Stewart at her office, Mad Dogs (since this print, she’s been laid off. Ugh!) We hang out with her. Then get to know the Marina again. Go back to Palace of Fine Arts--yes the swans are really that big, but not THAT big. Walk along the beach and watch Uber yuppie San Fran Ex-Dot Com CEO types windsurfing. Meet MM, Will, Steve Tornello and Jason for dinner in North Beach at Bocce Cafe. Yum. Crash at MM studio in Pacific Heights. So nice of her to let us stay, really nice, since her studio is her bed and a bathroom. Ah, San Fran.



Thursday April 1st:
Wake up early. Drive MM to work. Have lunch at awesome local breakfast dive near Marina called Home Base? Carrot pancakes. Banana nut pancakes. Eggs. Jump on 101 and we’re back on the road. Joel? Have anything to say?

Secret hike: Partington Cove: 2miles north of Julia Feiffer State Park...more, Joel?
Secret cove. History says that ships would come into this cove and pick up massive logs from loggers. Long, wooden tunnel goes underneath the bluffs and spills out to the water's edge. We walk down long tunnel, climb rocks and are at the edge of the earth, almost alone. Except for one surprise. A baby otter and his friend, the seagull are splashing about in the sun. Have we made a wrong turn? Are we inside a children's storybook? Otter dives down for fish, comes back up and hangs with Gull. Otter floats around Gull. They are inseparable.

On to Gorda, down the coast: Whale Cafe...searching for this restaurant Stephen Meyer told us about . Turns out we passed it an hour ago and never knew. Starved, we check out the menu here. Let’s stay? $20 Fish and Chips! Let’s not stay. We have a deadline, have to get to Pasos de Robles. Sunset? Where will we be, always the question. Liz is driving along Rt. 1, becoming adept at the curves. Arm workout--sexy arms here I come.

Pause. Now deep into Big Sur. No words. I am NOT adept. Pictures necessary. Can you put pictures on blog? Have to research.

Then, I see an exit with a huge tour bus. There is ALWAYS a reason for a bus that big to stop. I look down and see some weird animals writhing on the beach. Not saying a word I exit. “Oh, Liz, why are we stopping. SUNSET! There’s a tour bus....oh no, why?” says Joel. I keep telling him to just wait and trust me. We run down to the beach and see hundreds of elephant seals writhing, belching, fornicating? Orgiastic, lovable, amazing--they are so human, people I know flash into my mind. Are we like them or the other way around? Elephant seals--the perfect pre-cocktail entertainment.

Hop back into the car and keep driving. Finally, we see San Simeon. There’s Hearst Castle, hurry! We drive through old money wrought iron gates. Where is this house? We see it way up high on a bluff, we speed up, thinking we’ll just make a few turns here and there and get to it. Na a. There is a fortress at the bottom protecting Hearst Castle. An arsenal of huge tour buses and a tourist rest stop complete with bathrooms and souvenir spoons. What were we thinking...have to escape before we’re locked in. Hearst Castle--a Citizen Kane like haven of parties, money and more money now closes at 6. Much like everything else on Rt. 1. So, beauty closes at 6? We don’t think so. We make a mad dash for a sunset spot and land at San Simeon Bar and Grill. It’s cheesy, the clam chowder tastes canned...but the beer is cold and the view is divine. Overlooking the beach. Overlooking the sunset--our second memorable one this week. And we have yet again fulfilled Joel’s neurotic need for the perfect sunset.

Keep driving, take the road inland to Pasos de Robles and in a half hour we arrive. Villa Creek. A haven of fine wine, food, ambience, warmth--this is where Steven Meyer works. He’s energetic, he’s still on his shift. We’re weary. So, we have some wine and then head to his house to clean up. Shower ready we head back to Villa Creek for Halibut, Steak, Cheese plates, dessert,wine and more wine. A wonderful night. We crash on the extra mattress...it’s nice to be asleep.


Friday April 1: I got this part covered, all written out in my journal. Woke up in great sheets. Joel wants good sheets. Joel doesn’t know price of good sheets--200-300 clams. Someday, we will have good sheets. Snore...spent morning waking each other up in tandem snoring. Slumber party at Stevie Meyers. Joe’s place for breakfast. Note: Guerilla laden mugs and decor. Rush out of town to make it to Ojai--in haste Joel rolls over Meyer’s root to a tree outside house. ooooooops. Amazing drive to Ojai. Stop in Santa Barbara. Can’t find it, it’s so big. Stop for gas, Joel tries to pay, unsuccessful...language barrier. Turns out we never paid, but didn’t know it. Still can’t find downtown. Screw it. We’re partial to small towns anyway. Wait, hear that? I think it’s a cop.

Stopped in Carpinteria--the beach that Jesus built. Yummy Mexican food on the beach. Note: Loel/Jiz will retire here someday. Santa Barbara feel without the shee shee I’m so cool money. Rt. 150 is our friend...took picture of Rivendell sign that leads to amazing ranch hidden by the road. Saw Howell and Katie’s house. Note: Cool backyard, great windows, amazing house! Joel goes on bachelor hike with Howell and his friends. Ouch Calves. Liz--camp recon a success. Camp Casitas or so she thought, felt safe leaving tent with nice lesbians. Drinks on the porch. Howell/Katie scurry to get ready for dinner at Il Giatto’s. And I see Dimitri, Salina, Fiona, Stewart and other new friends at our dinner table. Not a boring name in the place. Barry’s toast (Katie’s brother) brings Howell down. Buddy (Howell’s Dad), “I zinged him.” Drinks at Pangea--cool back area romanticized with candles. Love it. We crash at packed campsite: Fear morning. Pull in at 12:30...karma is a boomerang--late 3 am stragglers just as loud.

Saturday a.m. April 2nd:
Joel awakens to sounds of Mexican families. Techno salsa, Outkast, and clank clank of horse shoes. Escape to nice view of lake, speed boats and model air strip. Enjoy pop-tarts. Go to Farmhouse--where Howell is house sitting. Joel hurts chickens with Howell. Then eat fruit of chix labor in an omelet. Back to our future retirement, Carpenteria--but this time blasted clouds. Sky heard our cries and opened up. Liz brainwashes Joel during his quick nap to actually take a walk. Scurry back to shovel Hi-Burgers in Capri Motel before wedding.

Wedding: Only pictures can do justice. At the top of a mountain at the Ojai Foundation. Buddhist statue, meditation walk, yoga yurts and hot tea. It’s a haven. An amazing place to get married with a 360 view. Actual ceremony inside the canopy of an ancient tree. Howell and Katie were beautiful, beaming, truly made for each other. Time to party. Reception at a friend’s amazing house. Apparently the cottage of a bigger mansion up the road. The whole house aglow in candles. Great tex-mex food. Some dancing. Joel’s toast about Dillard House took down the house, candles and all. Want to stay late, party, drink, but really can’t. We have to leave early in the morning to get to Ashland, Oregon by a decent hour.

Sunday April 3rd:
Take off early. I-5 how we love you...straight and fast. 90 mph is slow for I-5. Cows give off stench, I don’t mind. Stop for IHOP pancakes...yum. Keep going. Mt. Shasta is beautiful...see B&W pictures. After pass Shasta, stop in Weed, Ca. for t-shirt. Sorry, Joel...we search 3 gas stations for the right t-shirt. Keep driving and arrive in Ashland by dinner time. Do we stay or go? As we eat dinner by the babbling brook in Ashland, still don’t know. We get a call from Sean. He invites us to stay, so we do. Go out for drinks and crash. Cute kitties at Sean’s house! Joel is allergic. Get up early, skadoodle back and I’m in town for a 2 pm meeting....whew. Trip over. Are we really back?