Christmas in Hollywood:

Only in LA does the mall Santa take a break from photos, crying kids, wet laps, and ho-ho-hoing to stand up and perform his very own rendition of Feliz Navidad (complete with microphone and his own jolly moves).

At 8:00pm on Christmas day, I experienced a white Christmas in LA! The Grove at the Farmer's Market douced its guests with a flurry of snow (soap suds projected from bubble machines on top of the buildings) for a full five minutes while we listed to Harry Connick, Jr. sing "Let it Snow" and Bing Crosby sing "White Chistmas."

The annual light festival presented by LADWP (Dept of Water and Power) in Griffith Park featured an original light version of Muscle Beach complete with shirtless men lifting blinking dumbbells.

The giant Christmas tree at Hollywood and Highland (Mann's Chinese Theatre) was donned with shiny film canisters tied with red ribbons.

Santa costumes in LA can be purchased with an option of red shorts trimmed in white fur.

For the first time, I rode the subway.

No, I did not go alone. No, I did not get mugged. No, I did not acquire any rare subway-born diseases... that I am aware of.

I did, however, get motion sick, encounter a delusional (quite possibly psychotic) schizophrenic train-hopper, and I may or may not have sat on gum.

All-in-all, I'd call the experience just that... an experience. It was neither good nor bad.

But on the plus side, I have never made the trip any faster to downtown LA... and I didn't have to pay for parking. That saved two years of life (lack of stress in traffic) and $30 for 2 hours of parking.

So, why did I do it?

Ice skating.

Huh? What? Ice skating in southern California?

Yep.

Los Angeles set up "Downtown on Ice," which is a temporary ice rink in Pershing Square (until Jan 16). It costs only $6 for an hour of skating and $2 to rent skates if you don't have your own... but honestly, who does?

It was too much fun. And the hour passed too quickly. I am definitely going back before the rink is taken away.

I crashed only once... it was colder than it was painful. My hands, one leg, and my tail were wet from shaved ice.

The 8-year-old kid who kept passing me... I'm sure he was from Maine. As well as the 4-year-old girl, the rink guards and the dog that hopped onto the ice when no one was looking. And the 80-year-old man who kept skating circles around me... I'm nearly certain he was from a hockey team somewhere in Michigan. It wasn't that I sucked... nope... everyone else was just this side of pro. That's all.

My feet, I am ashamed to admit, smelled of a high school locker room after football practice. I watched the rental lady spray the insides of the skates with Lysol before she handed them to me, but it was clearly an effort in vain. Just... gross.

And when I win the lottery, I am taking skating lessons. And buying my own pair of skates.

In the meantime, I had such a good time skating that I am actually considering getting back on the subway to make the trip again... except perhaps this time I'll take pepper spray to ward off creepy psychos... and an extra pair of clean-smelling socks for after skating.

So, I was cooking deer sausage in the oven this morning when my super-sensitive fire alarm detected smoke and began sounding. And before you even think it, no, I was not burning it! That dumb ole alarm would probably sound from boiling water.

I opened the windows and the door to create a draft and send the smoke out of the apartment. After about two minutes, feel-factor ten minutes, the alarm silenced.

I returned to the business of rushing around getting ready to leave for the set. No sooner than I picked up my toothbrush, the alarm began screeching its hideous beeps again. Now mind you, at that point, I had already turned off the oven, removed the sausage, turned on the fan above the stove, and had opened the windows.

Immediately, I grabbed a chair and stood on it while fanning the stupid, red-flashing alarm. But you must know, I already had a towel draped over it because I knew how sensitive it was. So, now I'm fanning an already covered alarm begging it to silence. With my foot, I pushed open the door and swung it back and forth to again create a draft.

Finally, the dang thing stopped.

So, I returned the chair, closed the door, reached for my toothbrush and... yep, you guessed it.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Stupid, freaking, son of a biscuit, dadblame fire alarm! At this point, I want to grab the nearest shoe and hammer the retarded piece of plastic into the wall. Or disable it. But 1) that's against the law; 20 I would be kicked out of my apartment if management found out; and 3) it would be my luck that when I left for set, my Christmas tree would catch fire and burn the entire complex down... and just you guess who the firemen would point at.

So, I opted for cursing at the taunting alarm. Apparently, my neighbors agreed with my sentiments because they began beating on the walls and yelling obscenities, too.

Oh, come on. Did they really think I had no idea how annoying the beeping was? I mean, I was standing in the same room as the frigging alarm.

Finally, the alarm silenced. But I wasn't to be fooled quite so easily. History repeats itself, right? I stood, glaring at the alarm, waiting. And it glared back at me... mocking me... daring me to make one more attempt at brushing my teeth.

To make a long story short, it screeched again and I ripped the alarm from the wall with my bare hands and hurled it out my 3rd story window.

.

.

.

Do you know me even at all? I'm the girl who returns excessive change at the supermarket. I hate it, but I am. Do you really think I would have the tujungas to break a major law like tampering with a fire alarm? If I did, I wonder if I could plead self defense saying the fire alarm was actually tampering with my sanity.

Likely not.

Truth - the alarm eventually shut the heck up, I brushed my dang teeth, and I arrived at the stinking set ten minutes earlier than my call time... because that's the kind of nerd I am.

He woke me every morning by standing on my chest and rubbing his little pink, wet nose into my nose. "Good morning! Wake up! Most importantly, feed me!" When I stood from bed, he led me by meowing to the closet where he knew his food was stored. If I stopped walking or took a different path, he would stand by me and meow until I followed him again... all the while turning his head to be certain I was taking his lead.

When I bathed, he would sit on the side of the tub and use his paw to play with the massive mountain of bubbles.

One of my favorite things he did... tail flicks. Whenever I said his name, he would flick his tail a bit. Even if he was terribly tired and half asleep, he would at least acknowledge me with a flick of his tail.

He loved to open cabinets with his paws and crawl inside to hide. He hid in closets as well. In fact, he loved hiding even as a kitten. When I first got him, he hid in a box behind a piece of furniture and stayed so long I thought he had wondered out the front door and had gotten lost. He loved laying in boxes, in suit cases, in backpacks... any tight quarters that he could claim for his own.

High places were fun for him. He found humor in striking as I would walk by. From the top of the refrigerator, top of the cabinets, plant shelves along the ceiling. He almost seemed to laugh when he knew he startled you.

He was a great guard cat. Before leaving the house, I always reminded him to allow no elephants inside while I was gone. Never once did I come home to find an elephant. And he could be quite threatening... just ask anyone on the receiving end of his hiss... or anyone who touched his hind legs (aside of me of course). And none of the squirrels or birds dared to taunt him from the trees outside my third-floor apartment window wall.

He came when I called his name. Unlike snooty cats who seek affection on their terms, he came out of hiding from the closet, or leaped from the top of the refrigerator, or meandered from behind the window curtain whenever I called for him. Just like a dog.

Manners did not escape him. He was terribly polite in that he never used his box whenever I was home. He always waited until I left. On occasion, I fooled him by making only a small trip to the mailbox. When I returned, he appeared wide-eyed as if having been caught with his paw in the cookie jar (or in this case, the litter box).

He loved to play. Fishing and hide-n-seek were his favorite games. Fishing was played with an object (usually a feather or a bell) tied with a string to the end of a plastic pole. He could chase that thing around until he fell out with exhaustion. Hide-n-seek was another fun game he loved. I would hide behind the bar or around the corner and stick my head out just enough to peak at him. He would sneak up on me as if approaching prey... slowly, cautiously, side-winding... until one of us attacked. I usually attacked first, which would send him running through the house at top speed with his tail puffed. When he attacked first, he pounced on me and leaped back to see what I was gonna do. Of course, I attacked and that would again send him running through the house at top speed with his tail puffed.

Dorittos, sour cream, and sweet tea were among this favorite snacks. But he would fight you for a turkey sandwich.

He will be missed.

Stormy
12/00 - 12/11/04