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Fame

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SECRETS
of the SPLIT!

They’re acting like a happy couple
in public, but in private friends say
IT’S GETTING NASTY!

Didi pointed at the magazine on the kitchen table. “What’s this?”

“Sissy bought it,” I said, emptying a can of beans into a bowl, “because she wanted see what’s going on with Tom and Katie.”

“Disgusting!” she cried. “He is SO disgusting. I can’t stand to look at him any more! He repels me! And what has he done lately? He hasn’t been in a movie for YEARS!”

“He was in War of the Worlds. That was this year, wasn’t it?”

“Was it? I can’t remember. All I know is I can’t stand him! If he dropped off the face of the earth I think we’d all be better off. If I never saw him again, I’d be ECSTATIC. I am so sick and tired of hearing his name, seeing his face—who in the hell cares about him anyway! ENOUGH ALREADY!”

I put the beans in the microwave.

“Let me see that magazine,” she said. “I’ve got to see what he’s up to.”

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Official First Impressions

“Chill, Bonnie!”

“But Sophie, Ladies’ Night Out was supposed to be about improving ourselves. Like a book club… or something… Oh! How about keno?”

My neighbor sighed patiently. “Bonnie, by improving our wardrobes, we actually improve ourselves. After all, we only get one chance to make that Official First Impression, when we literally are what we wear. So. Let’s look at what we’re wearing.”

I looked.

Sophie’s outfit seemed stylish enough, but my Official First Impression would probably best be described as “Garage Sale Escapee.” Or maybe even “Thrift Store Donation Pile.”

Which is why the following Wednesday night found Sophie and me in a community college classroom, where we donned white smocks and listened to a Seasonal Beauty Color Consultant explain how men and children instinctively know their true colors, but for some reason we women get confused and need Seasonal Beauty Color Consultants.

“Who’s going first?” asked the consultant.

A pale woman with bleached hair and eyebrows volunteered. When she sat under the full-spectrum lights, her Official First Impression could best be described as “Peeled Banana.”

The consultant told us green veins meant “warm” coloring and blue veins meant “cool” coloring. She asked us to examine Ms. Banana’s arm veins.

“I see!” “How obvious!” chorused the class.

I squinted, but couldn’t see a difference.

“They’re green!” everyone shouted.

“Right!” said the consultant. “Is she light, medium or dark complected?”

That one was easy. Ms. Banana was perhaps the only person on earth whiter than I was.

The consultant then asked for our opinions of the different color swatches she placed over Ms. Banana. I thought they all looked fine, but Sophie and the rest of the class were more judgmental.

“Yes!” They shouted. “No!” “Beautiful!” “Yuck!”

The consultant declared Ms. Banana a Spring and held up all her Spring colors, which I felt were exceedingly ugly. I decided right then that whatever I was, it wasn’t a Spring. I could live with Olive or Khaki, but never Coral or Salmon.

Sophie went next and was classified as a Summer. “I knew it,” she shrugged. “I just wanted the color swatches you get at the end of class.”

One classmate got pegged as a Winter; another an Autumn. So far we were an equal opportunity color spread.

And then it was my turn. “Green veins. Pinky peach complexion,” the consultant decided. When she swirled Gold Lame over my shoulders, the class sighed in united bliss.

“Spring!”

“No way!” I cried. I demanded to be draped in Autumn swatches. The class booed them all down, even Olive and Khaki. I tried Summer swatches, too–everything from Silver to Cocoa–but each shade was greeted with, “Ick! Ugh! Give it up! You’re a Spring!”

It seemed to me the class was spurred on by the real Spring, the Evil Ms. Banana, who deserved every single one of her ugly colors. She was the worst case of misery looking for company I’ve ever seen.

“Learning to love one’s true season can be an emotional adjustment,” the consultant soothed as she helped me take off my smock. “Think Bright Yellow-Green! Coral Pink! Clear Bright Salmon!”

And that’s when she got her Official First Impression of the clothes under my smock. “Hmmm,” she frowned. “This outfit composes a Winter color scheme that’s much too harsh for your delicate coloring. Much.”

Shaken, I clutched my Seasonal Beauty Spring Color Swatches as the class closed with a question and answer session, mostly about shopping. Autumns should try Eddie Bauer, Banana Republic and Mac cosmetics. Winters and Summers will have luck anywhere, but remember that Estee Lauder was a Winter. And Springs are on their own, having to weed through everybody else’s leftover colors to find what they can wear to match their dinky little oddball palette.

I pouted all the way home, where Hubby declared we would not revamp my closet just because some crazy woman said my veins didn’t match my wardrobe. Somehow, this provided me with a sort of comfort. In fact, I’d say it turned the tide.

“Is that right?” I huffed, “So I’m stuck with an Official First Impression of ‘Too Harsh a Color Scheme’ just because YOU say so? Hunh?”

He thought this through but looked confused. “Were you speaking English just now?”

Still, I found it difficult to fully embrace my Springness until I spent a whole day quizzing everyone I met on whether they thought my veins were green or blue.

The new wardrobe would come later, after Hubby chilled out a bit.

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Phone company helps kidnapper Sprint away

The Cochran family of Eastvale was loading their baby into their SUV in the home’s driveway. The father, Jason, belted in their 10-month-old baby and came back inside for their 3-year-old.

“Stephanie was finishing brushing his teeth. I went and got him and walked out the door and the car was gone with Wade in it,” said father Jason Cochran.

When the parents called 911 they also realized that the father’s Sprint cell phone with GPS locator technology was also in the car.

NBC4 reported that Sprint wouldn’t provide a location to the parents or to the deputies.

“The deputies were told that Sprint had the location of the vehicle but that they could not disclose it to them because they needed to pay the $25 fee for a subpoena or fill out some forms,” said Stephanie.

“Sprint Refuses To Reveal Location Of Cell Phone In Carjacked SUV,” NBC4.TV News

The story is much worse than it appears, if that can be possible!

I listened to KFI radio station talk show hosts John and Ken interview Stephanie Cochran tonight, who said when she first called Sprint for help, the operator said she could do it and put Cochran on hold to obtain a supervisor’s help.

When she came back she said Sprint couldn’t do anything after all, because the Cochrans hadn’t activated the GPS chip in their phone. Disappointed, Mrs. Cochran hung up and went to work collecting information to police for an Amber Alert.

After the baby was found, a police officer advised Ms. Cochran to find another cell phone provider. Sprint, he told her, really could have told them where Wade was. Angry, Ms. Cochran called Sprint and confirmed what the officer told her: Sprint knew exactly where the child was during the entire episode but refused to help.

According to Stephanie Cochran, Sprint wanted her to pay a $25 activation fee—which she said could’ve easily been taken from her auto-pay account—but also wanted a subpoena before they could release the information.

Luckily the little boy was found unharmed and Sprint will “investigate the incident“.

The Cochran family wasn’t through with making police reports, unfortunately, because a few days later someone stole their other car, presumably the same guy who stole the first one.

What’s even more amazing to me: this happened in December! How come I just heard about it now?



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Giant waves (at least for us)

I meant to turn south yesterday morning on El Camino Real from Encinitas Blvd., but when I saw an enormous wave at Moonlight Beach I had to pull off and watch. Normally our waves range between 2 and 4 feet and a little higher at times, but these were much, much bigger.

I didn’t have my camera with me, but found an article with this photo:

Picture of large wave in Encinitas

Here’s some coverage about our big waves from the North County Times, but The Seattle Times had the best series of wave photos.

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In the post office, no one can hear you scream

A team of scientists from San Diego claims to have found extraterrestrial life standing in line in local postal offices.

Well, okay, so I made that up. But some day I’m sure this statement will be proven as scientific fact. Really!

You see, yesterday I spent a long time waiting in the post office. This gave me plenty of time to observe people who acted an awful lot like they came from Pluto. I even sorted them into the following types:


The Odiferous Alien:
This is a really stinky alien. In fact, any insects flying within a three-foot radius of this extraterrestrial will instantly drop dead to the floor. Lifting his package from the floor to the mail counter raises his body temperature and exposes his underarms, thereby increasing the three-foot radius to six feet.

This alien has been known to make even hardened postal employees cry.

The Angry Alien:

This creature becomes more and more irritated the closer he gets to the counter. His irritation manifests itself in spontaneous comments to no one in particular, like, “To hell with this!” and “Dammit!” and “Screw this!”

He grimaces a lot, frightening ordinary humans whose expressions of fear he takes to be a form of agreement. Any information relayed to him by the postal clerks may cause him to erupt into a heated tirade before he shouts and stomps out of the post office.

Note: Angry Aliens are sometimes confused with Helpful Aliens, described below.

The Helpful Alien:

This alien unexpectedly calls out to the postal clerks, describing the general conditions of the post office line and/or making suggestions, like, “There are a LOT of people in your line!” and “Do you see how many people are in your line?” and “Do your job faster so we can all get out of this line!”

Confident that all will be well when the postal employees actually follow his advice, this alien gets concerned if he thinks they haven’t heard him and may punctuate his observations with “Hel-LO! Is anyone home?”

The Reproducing Alien:

These extraterrestrials allow their spawn to fling packages of collector postal stamps at each other, whack each other on the head with mailing tubes, and scream at extremely high decibel levels.

Sometimes the spawn stop to stare at human customers as if considering whether they would taste good or not. Fearful of being eaten, the humans may try to prove they come in peace by waving and/or smiling, but this only causes the spawn to scream at even higher decibel levels.

Note: never approach alien spawn, as their parental units may see you as an edible threat to their offspring. Remember! They are reproducing, so they’re probably hungry.

The Clueless Alien

This alien has no idea why she is at the post office, except that it has something to do with the stamp machine. Confident she will one day decipher its mysteries, she stands in front of it and meditates, trying to reach her inner alien.

A long line always builds up behind her, mainly composed of Angry and Helpful Aliens.

Aliens Fearful of Human Contamination:

This kind of alien will not move forward unless there’s at least a six-foot gap between him and the human in front of him.

When the human behind him (that would be me) starts breathing down his neck, he attempts to use his searing Death Ray Eyes to force her back.

Ha! This may work on other people, but I after years of living with my teenagers I am immune.

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Agnes Diggs

Picture of Agnes Diggs
Agnes Diggs
April 25, 1949 – Nov. 27, 2005

I loved her column and her imagination (which I felt was just as overactive as my own) and now she is gone.

Here’s to you, Agnes. I feel like I’ve lost a good neighbor.

So, there I was, being swept along in this herd of heifers who had dressed themselves to attract attention of any and all kinds. I have never seen so many Women wearing white dresses and no underwear in my life —- and I have lived in Los Angeles.

“The issue of undress must be addressed,” July 27, 2003

One consolation for me is that my routine is so basic and uneventful that by now, if something is watching, it is grinding its teeth with boredom.

“Inside that cash register, someone is watching,” Aug. 3, 2003

What is the deal on having food-scented soaps and candles in the bathroom? Chocolate-brownie-scented candles in the bathroom. How is your digestive system supposed to act when you’re signaling it on both ends?

“Assault on the scent-ses is food for thought,” Aug. 23, 2003

I guess men are entitled to equal time with women. After all, the gamboling guys are no worse than the ad showing a girl wrestling a dispenser for a tampon.

Or the woman who is apparently out on a romantic date in a rowboat on a lake when the craft begins to sink. She conveniently —- and, amazingly, to me —- whips a 24-pack box out of her purse and uses one to plug the leak and save the day.

Now there’s a romantic setting. You, a gorgeous date and a bloated feminine product squishing at your feet.

“Erectile dysfunction ads elicit horror, humor,” Mar. 27, 2004

Once, while on assignment, I tossed my purse down on a chair and moved away. A lady asked me, “Aren’t you afraid someone might grab it and run?”

No worries. First, I seldom carry money in it, other than the aforementioned change. And second, I believe it would be easy enough to find the perpetrator. Go directly to the nearest hospital emergency room and ask for a man who recently arrived stooped over and complaining of a severe hernia, and voila, we have our guy.

“At home with her purse: Always room for one more,” Sept. 25, 2004

Well, laugh all you want to. But remember this:

There are three kinds of people in this world:

People who believe in werewolves.

People who don’t believe in werewolves.

And werewolves.

“When the going gets scary, there are rules to be followed,” Oct. 30, 2004

And then there was the time another sales associate, who was apparently more interested in associating than making sales, stood chatting on the phone until a customer —- other than myself —- walked up. The clerk rushed over and offered to help the newcomer. I turned to the recent arrival and said, “Excuse me, would you do me a favor, please? Would you look to your right and see if there’s a tall, queen-sized black woman standing next to you?”

“The Invisible Woman,” Jan. 3, 2005

Lord have mercy.

The Girl Scout cookies have arrived.

Judging by the rapidly growing pile of boxes on my desk, I must have said yes to everyone who asked me.

“Cute kids bearing cookies – who can resist?,” Mar. 2, 2005

“You know, mom,” I said. “Just because I’m on my own doesn’t mean you can’t give your opinion about the things I tell you.”

“You’re grown,” she said. “You don’t need me to tell you anything.”

“It’s like this,” I said. “My life is like a corporation. I’m CEO now, but you’re not fired. I’m kicking you upstairs. You can be the President of the Board of Advisors. I expect to consult you on all important decisions. I’m the major stockholder, but I’ll always at least listen to your opinion.”

She was thoughtful for a long moment, then said, “When you get to Montreal, don’t share a room with (so-and-so,) and you stay with the group, you hear.”

I was tempted to laugh, wondering how she had held it in for so long.

“Yes ma’am,” I said. “I’ll be careful.”

“Think twice before firing mom from your life,” May 4, 2005

Mindful that these concrete parking mazes are favorite hideouts for werewolves and vampires, I dug out my keys as soon as I got on the elevator.

As I walked toward the space where I had parked, the ceiling light over it promptly went off. Apparently, it was the kind that polices itself to conserve energy.

Or maybe that’s just what The Boogeyman wanted me to believe.

“You say paranoia, I say vigilance,” May 16, 2005

Now remember, you’re talking to a person who firmly believes that camping out means staying in a hotel room with no coffee pot.

“She decamps in the hunt for comfort,” June 4, 2005

Suddenly I was struck in the face with the equivalent of a horse’s tail.

I turned to my right in time to see a young blonde gathering her locks for another shot.

Running her fingers through her hair, she gathered strands in her fist, wound up her neck, flexed right and —– thwack. Pop goes the Agnes.

“Public grooming’s a flipping nuisance,” July 23, 2005

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing to do.

It just looks funny, that’s all. And highly entertaining.

I can hardly wait for the trend of chest-bumping to gain popularity.

“You can’t deep-six the high five,” Oct. 24, 2005

Suddenly this fool leaned into the open roof of the car and grabbed my purse. In front of a police station, no less.

Don’t ask me why, because I’m sure I don’t know —- I grabbed the front of his shirt and held on.

She powered through the gears and took off, with him flailing in the opening like a hooked trout. I was afraid to let go lest he fall and be killed by the oncoming traffic. I was angry, but not that angry.

She didn’t drive far. Just enough to have him hollering for his mama.

“Darkness brings danger,” Nov. 7, 2005

UPDATE:

Andrew Phelps remembers Agnes.

Agnes’ LA Times obituary.

Is this a hug or am I being squashed like a bug? (a tribute by former coworker Scott Reeder)

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Teenager Thought for the Day: Feminine Version

My neighbor has three girls. She recently gave me a glimpse of life with female teenagers and I’d like to share it with you:

Female Teenager Thought for the Day
(said with a bit of impatience)

Mom, I’m old enough to do everything myself now! You don’t have to do a single thing for me anymore, okay?

Well, except… drive. And pay. You have to drive and pay.

But that’s ALL you have to do, Mom.

Drive and pay.

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Pink bra bandit bagged

Oh, I do so love alliteration.

Remember the Pink Bra Bank Robber?

SAN DIEGO – Detectives Thursday arrested a man suspected of carrying out three recent mid-city bank heists while sporting women’s clothing and makeup.

Members of a regional bank robbery task force took 37-year-old Robnay Hosaka into custody, according to the FBI.

Investigators believe Hosaka is the so-called “Cat-Eye Bandit,” who passed demand notes at Union Bank branch offices on Oct. 14, Oct. 19 and Monday.

During the crimes, the robber wore women’s clothing, including a pink bra, and sported lip gloss, pancake makeup and French-manicured fingernails.

After seeing a report on the crimes on a newscast Thursday, a citizen called police to say that Hosaka resembled the suspect, FBI public information officer April Langwell said.

“Police arrest cross-dressing robbery suspect,” SignonSanDiego News Services, Nov. 17, 2005.

I looked long and hard for a photo of this guy Hosaka, with no luck. I did find this, though:

Picture of Cillian Murphy in 'Breakfast on Pluto'
How ever he looked in his pink bra and lip gloss, the bank robber Robnay Hosaka (Hey! Get it? “Bank ROB-ber”? “ROB-nay”?) probably had nothing on actor Cillian Murphy, shown here dressed as a woman but not robbing any banks.

Heck, I don’t look as good as Cillian Murphy does here. And what a makeover! The last time I saw Murphy was in Batman Begins, where he played a man whose momma never saw fit to buy him a proper Halloween mask. All she would let him use was this nasty burlap thing, and it ruined his whole life.

Pic of Cillian Murphy as Burlap Boy
Cillian Murphy as Burlap Boy in Batman Begins.

His character ended up consorting with an evil, secretive sect of vigilantes who believed the path to enlightenment was listening to Liam Neeson’s psychological musings as he beat the stuffing out of you. Lots of fun in that Evil, Vigilante Ashram, sure. Bruce Wayne ate it up, but I’d rather find my elightenment at La Costa Resort and Spa, thank you very much.


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On pink bras and robbing banks

There has been a little gender confusion in the San Diego crime scene lately.

HILLCREST – Police are looking for a man dressed as a woman – French manicured nails and a pink bra – who held up a bank yesterday.

The robbery was reported at 1 p.m. at a Union Bank on Fifth Avenue near University Avenue, said San Diego police Sgt. Rodney Vandiver.

The robber handed a teller a note demanding cash, then left with an undisclosed amount of money.

Witnesses described the robber as Hispanic. He is 6 foot tall, weighs about 200 pounds and has short brown spiky hair. He was wearing dark pants and a white shirt.

It was at least the third time this year that a man dressed as a woman has robbed a bank in the general vicinity.

Police reported similar robberies Oct. 19 of a Union Bank on Fifth Avenue in Core-Columbia and July 25 of a Washington Mutual bank about five blocks away.

— Mark Arner, “Man dressed as woman robs bank,” San Diego Union-Tribune, Nov. 15, 2005.

How did witnesses know this guy wore a pink bra? Did they see a pink strap peeking out from the neck of his shirt?

Maybe the robber’s shirt was one of those thin polyester tees and people could see right through to his bra — I hate it when this happens to me. It’s hard enough to color coordinate my clothes without worrying about color coordinating my underwear, too.

At any rate, this sounds like it was a very entertaining bank robbery! If I were ever a crime witness, it’d be my luck to witness a boring bank robbery, where the bank robbers only put nylon stockings over their heads. How much more interesting to have a six-foot, 200-pound man flashing a pink bra and manicured nails at us witnesses!

And how do the police know it was a man, exactly? What if it was really a woman? A woman did rob another bank about 2 hours later:

CHULA VISTA – A woman wearing hospital scrubs used a demand note to rob a Washington Mutual Bank branch on Telegraph Canyon Road yesterday afternoon, police said.

The woman wore large dark sunglasses and a blond wig when she entered the bank at the Vons shopping center near Interstate 805 shortly after 3 p.m., said Chula Vista police Lt. Gary Ficacci.

No weapon was seen, Ficacci said.

— Brian Hazle, “Woman in hospital scrubs hits bank,” San Diego Union-Tribune, Nov. 15, 2005.

I think these two robbers are the same people! Look at the facts: neither robber is reported to have used weapons, and the second robber wore a wig, which could be covering the “short brown spiky hair” of the first robber. If the second robber was a really tall and hefty Hispanic lady with a French manicure, it’s a sure bet she is the “male” robber in the first report!

Think about it: after her 1 pm bank robbery in Hillcrest, she realizes her scrubs always camouflage her pink bra better than her white shirt, so she goes home to change and stash her loot. She’d have plenty of time to make her 3 pm Chula Vista robbery, even with the afternoon traffic.

I swear, I should have been a cop.


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Day of the Dead

16-year-old Tiger didn’t go out trick-or-treating last night, which made me happy, but a little sad, too. His younger brother’s pillowcase now contains 7 pounds of solidified corn syrup and milk chocolate, but Squirt says he’s getting too old for this stuff any more.

Squirt’s costume: a red tempera paint-spattered t-shirt with the lettering “RCPD.” This acronym stands for “Raccoon City Police Department,” of course.

Yeah, I didn’t know what it stood for, either. It’s just another one of the tidbits of potentially lifesaving zombie facts you learn when you’re a member of the Zombie Surviver Club.

Frankly, if it were my club I’d make the Zombie Survivers stop those endless “Viral Infection or Meteor Radiation?” debates and spend a few minutes learning how to use spell check.