Muppet Adventures in Denver

It's not too often I'm able to report on Muppet-related adventures, but when a good friend of the World of Beth alerted to me to the fact that she hosted Kermit the Freakin' Frog around the top spots in Denver.....Well, hell, folks. That's worth posting on the blog!

Amuse yourselves with pictures of Kermit meeting top Colorado government officials, scaling the rocks at Red Rocks and attending a Rockie's game. I think my favorite is the one of him looking up at the big blue bear at the convention center. Might have to make that my computer background for when I have tough days at work.

Snaps to you, old friend, for showing our little green felt buddy around town. That's AWESOME!

Revisiting the Corey Cold War

For those younger readers of the World of Beth, allow me to share a history lesson from the days of 1987. America was in the midst of a Cold War. The country was divided into a bitter rivalry. The world had Corey-mania. Families and neighborhoods and entire communities were shattered by the division between those pre-teen girls who had deep gooey crushes on goofball Corey Haim, and those (like me) who were more enamored with the darker, sulky soul of Corey Feldman. Seriously.

And now, because history repeats itself every 20 years, we’re revisiting the Corey Cold War in the form of A&E’s “The Two Coreys,” which might be the most pathetic and entertaining show airing today. It’s set up basically like an Odd Couple Meets The Now 35-Year Old Lost Boys, where Corey Haim (fresh from rehab, natch) moves in with Corey Feldman and his very hot wife, who is like 21 or something.

First off, it's alarming to note that these boys actually look exactly like they did 20 years ago. Okay, for the most part. Okay, so Corey Haim is a LOT rougher around the edges than he was in Lucas. But still. Corey Haim is all hapless and goofy and actually pretty sad because he’s a little, um, washed up and Corey Feldman is all goth and smoker-voiced and vegan and actually pretty sad because he’s, um, the more successful of the Two Coreys apparently. By Corey Standards, that is. Don't even get me started on the episode where Corey Haim loses it and starts crying when he finds out he won't be cast in the Lost Boys 2.

Don't judge me too harshly, World at Large, but I can’t get enough of this show. It's like a train wreck that's sponsored by Tiger Beat magazine, and who among us mortals can resist that?

Beth’s fake nails: Fuhgettaboutit!

And so, just as The Soprano’s ended its triumphant run on HBO, my experience with having acrylic nails has come to as close as well. RIP, Carmela-inspired talons!

Let’s face it….they weren’t really ME to begin with. I’m all for the idea of taking better care of my appearance and spending more time pampering myself…but I’m not sure if having to deal with “fills” and “sets” is worth the trouble. The removal process itself was a little alarming, in that you soak your fingertips in a clear toxic liquid that basically melts the plastic off of your nails. That. Can’t. Be. Healthy.

Also, noting that on the manicurist’s table where I was undergoing the removal/melting process, I noticed the little jar of acrylic powder which was (hopefully?) mis-labeled as “ACRYLIC POWER.” Have I just had some of my power taken away by a $10 process at my "Fancy Fingers" salon? Let’s hope I stay strong after the process….

Beth's First Wild Parrot Sighting

It started off as a pretty ordinary day...went to work as always...decided upon driving home to expand my knowledge of area Target stores (including one that was recommended to me in Colma, no less, where 73 percent of the residents are, ahem, dead...)...bought some cat litter and then returned my Flexcar to its parking lot to head home.

All was normal and ordinary.

And then I heard the screeching. And then I saw people (okay, tourists mostly) looking up curiously. And then I saw them. A flock of brillilant green parrots swooping overhead - the very same parrots from that great documentary a few years ago, "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill." I forgot what a cool film that was - check out the trailer online and I challenge you not to get a little teared-up. Wild parrots clearly rock the house...and apparently they live right in my neighborhood.

Very, very cool.

Once again my hipster street cred is shot all to hell....

....as I sit on my sofa this afternoon finishing the latest - and final - installment of the Harry Potter empire and have tears streaming down my face.

Oh Harry. I'll miss you.

Jake Gyllenhaal Knew What He Was Talkin' Bout

Dammit, Payless ShoeSource.

I thought it was over between us. I went without you for a long time. We're no good for each other, Payless ShoeSource, I know that as much as you do. Face it, you're cheap and poorly constructed and when I walk around with you for too long, my feet reek to high heaven from pleather held together with stitches made by a Third World 8-year-old factory worker.

And yet, there you were, on a sunny Saturday in downtown San Francisco while I was wandering aimlessly. Whispering to me. Luring me in while you looked all cute with your shelves packed with ballet flats. And suddenly I was back in your arms and all was right with the world.

I'm not proud of our reunion. Okay, I'm a little smug about my $18 silver ballet flats and $15 black patent leather Mary Janes. They are cute as hell and I admit you can satisfy me in ways that Zappos and Endless and Nordstrom just can't. Why must you continue to tempt me and keep this blasted love affair alive, Payless ShoeSource?

I wish I could quit you, Payless ShoeSource.

Open Letter to Cheyenne, The Stylist Who Cut My Hair Yesterday

Dear Cheyenne,

First off, sir, props for being enough of a diva that you can actually pull off the name “Cheyenne.”
Um, yeah….so on that note about the bitchy diva-ness. I really didn’t appreciate the attitude you dished up to me when I came in for my haircut. I get that I wasn’t wearing a sassy halter sundress with stilettos like many of the other patrons there, and I get that my DIY color-from-a-box needs a touch up, badly. I get that my Payless sneakers and Maybelline lip gloss weren't real appreciated in your posh Aveda-centric world.

But bee-yotch, please.

I deserve a pair of snaps and a “You look gorgeous, girlfriend!” just as much as every other customer that perches on your stylist chair does. At the very least, I deserved a freakin’ handshake when I met you for the first time rather than a head-to-toe glance at my outfit, not to mention some conversational small talk while you cut and style my hair. For $95, you could have at least pretended to be somewhat engaging rather than merely showing off how stylish and cutting edge you are. We get it, okay?

Smell ya later - the hunt for a great stylist in the city is back on, big time.

Best,
Beth

Open Letter to the Electrician Who Wired the Kitchen in my Apartment

Dear Electrician,

I ask you, was there some sort of random shortage on electrical outlets when you were tasked to wire up my apartment?

Surely there has to be a logical reason as to why you put just one, single, solitary outlet in my kitchen. Really, just one outlet in which to plug things in? What is this, the third world? Is this some sort of test to see how creative I can be with my electricity consumption?

Your excruciatingly minimal outlet allotment means I can’t (for example) brew coffee and make toast at the same time. This hardly seems like a particularly exotic or demanding request. And yet, you deny me that simple pleasure and force me to take my toaster into my living room and utilize those outlets in order to toast. That is just downright madness. You, sir/ma’am, limit my ability to simultaneously brew and toast. CURSE YOU AND YOUR ENTIRE ELECTRICIAN FAMILY!

I hope when you return home from a hard day of electrical work to your posh, space-age multiple outlet-laden kitchen that you remember just how truly blessed you are when it comes time to utilize the food processor AND the Foreman Grill AND the bread machine. All at the same time.

Some of us, you see, are not so electrically fortunate.

Best,
Beth

Shaken but not stirred yet: Beth returns!

It’s been two weeks since last I posted and boy, have I ever heard about it from you loyal readers. Enough already! I’m baaaaaack! Hmmm, where to even begin? Let’s start with a basic needs overview:

Shelter: Good progress here – I’m basically all moved in and trying to get used to having my apartment overlook the Loudest Street EVER. Seriously, Bay Street? You can’t cease with the motorcycle revving and delivery truck beeping and drunk people shouting for just a few hours at night? Other than that, things are good, except I feel like I live in a shoebox that smells like a cat box. Apparently the key to living in a small studio is that you keep it immaculately clean otherwise it's all downhill from there, quickly.

Transportation: I’ve had two flings so far with my boyfriend Flexcar and our love proves stronger than ever. Flexcar’s quite posh in the Bay Area with their green Toyota Priuses, which are SO shmancy that they don’t even use normal keys to enter the vehicle or start the ignition. Take that, fossil fuel guzzling cars with your archaic, metal keys. Pffft. I’ve also figured out two bus routes to get me to work, one of which is packed with tourists, the other which is packed with, ahem, exotic views of Chinatown and roasting rotisserie ducks hanging in shop windows.

Clothing: Hate all of my schlumpy Seattle clothing. Need razor sharp wardrobe ASAP. Everyone here is very hip with great shoes and great hair and clear skin and trendy vintage wears. Donations for my Bay Area makeover will be gladly accepted.

Books: Found a Half Price Books (my happy place) in Berkeley, which was strangely disappointing. Clearly someone sent around the memo that day that Beth had some extra cash so they hid all of the good stuff in the back rooms.

Earth: The World of Beth survived her first 4.2 magnitude earthquake at 4:40 this morning with nothing more than a slight rattling of my windows. I rolled right back over and went to sleep and tried to ignore the fact that animals are supposed to have a sixth sense about these types of things and warn their humans about them…and Puff just kept right on snoozing next to me. Damn that cat.

Hot Shins: Beth Freaks Out Until Her Stuff Arrives

So, um, apparently when I was joking about my movers selling my sofa in Mexico to buy weed, I might not have been entirely off base. Without much explanation, my sketchy-sketch movers showed up two days late which - admittedly - is better than never, but it was a very hectic day yesterday while I waited on sharp, pointy, angry eggshells to get a call back about the whereabouts of my worldly possessions.

To kill time, we sat near my pool, and I proceeded to get very sunburnt shins which is proving to be a very random and unsexy place to get burnt. It was disorienting to then go out later in the evening for fireworks - after being sunburnt on a sunny, warm day - and find it so cold that you need a coat and scarf. San Francisco, you're one strange cat, you know that?

The good news - at last - is that my stuff arrived (relatively) safe and sound and today has been very much like Christmas except that you're opening boxes you packed yourself of your own stuff. Still, stuff! Let's hear it for kitchen pans and picture frames and books and towels and stuff!

Big time Sanity Props are due to Heidi Jo, who did an excellent job at distracting me and keeping me from going off the deep end these past few days. You, my friend, deserve a case of Elizabeth Spencer, for all the work you did these past few days.

Chillin' on the sofa tonight with a Bud Light (the drink of the choice for this trip) and some episodes of Entourage, having dropped Heidi off at the airport. Feelin' scared. Feelin' exhausted. Feelin' overwhelmed with potential and that's scary and exciting and wonderful and intimidating and then right back to scary. Can't overthink - gotta just get out there and experience whatever is thrown at me. As the card on my fridge says, "You must travel in the direction of your fear."

For tonight though, I'm heading in the direction of my bed and we'll take it from there.

Abandon Hope Of Being a Hipster, All Yee Who Enter Here

The World of Beth arrives in San Francisco!

After signing my lease and checking out my very empty, very tiny, very expensive, apartment, Heidi and I hit the streets for some Hot Tourist Action until my stuff arrives bright and early tomorrow morning.

Cable car tour of the city? Check. Lunch on Fisherman's Wharf? Check. Ghiradelli Square? Hell yes. Obligatory pictures of the Golden Gate bridge? You know it. I've got exactly six months in my mind to get this touristy crap out of my system before I have to turn into a hardened local, so I might as well immerse myself now and enjoy it.

On an unrelated note, we watched this very odd documentary called "Starbucking" that was advertised as being hilarious and quirky and it was more just kind of disturbing and sad. One man's quest to visit every Starbucks in the world - interesting idea, no? Perhaps I could start some similar obsession now that I'm just an hour outside of wine country - visit every winery in Napa and Sonoma? Or perhaps every used book store in San Francisco? Oh right. I've got work. That. Best to enjoy the next day or so until I have to resume my normal responsible=person life...

Fingers Crossed: The Journey Continues

Day two of the road trip and everything - fingers crossed - has gone smoothly and without angst. We've been rockin' out to Dolly Parton and the Scissor Sisters - life is more or less good, save for the disturbing series of anti-evolution billboards posted along the highway ("Don't Make a Monkey Out of Me!").

Puff has proven herself to be a frickin' furry ROCK STAR when it comes to travel and has exceeded all of my expectations. Maybe she was just cranky all this time because she really wanted to see the country from the backseat of a Dodge Caravan - maybe? Sort of? Possibly?

We stopped driving around 8 and are staying in the hamlet of Willows, California, at a Motel 6 that is remarkably, and reliably, Motel 6-ish. Comfort food and Bud Lights at the beary over-decorated Black Bear Diner (see pic) and now it's lights out. The real adventure starts tomorrow when we hit civilization....

Minivan, Baby! Ah yeaaaaaah....

Good grief, kids, where to begin?

98 percent of my things are now in a moving truck - entirely out of my control and being driven to San Francisco by, ahem, less than legit-looking movers. Scratch that. Freakin' scary movers. Who scammed me out of buckets of money I didn't have in the first place and were laughably unprofessional and who are probably selling my sofa and toaster at the Mexican border right now to score some weed and some tier three hookers...

But I digress.

This means until I arrive at my new apartment I am technically homeless and everything currently in my possession consists only of a 30-pound cat, cleaning supplies, plants, CDs and my clothes. That's it. Oh, and don't forget a rockin' rental minivan! Wheeee! It's road trip time, baby!

After about 673 trips back and forth to load up my Dodge Caravan, Soccer Mom Beth finally hit the road around 4 in the afternoon with Puff and the Travel Monkey.* First stop was to pick up my trusty travel mate Heidi Jo at the airport, and then we were off down I-5 to Portland for our first night on the road.

Puff has been absolutely AMAZING so far on this first leg, even if it was only for three hours. She's been quiet and panic free, which has reduced the number of times I have had to screach to the back of the van that I will turn this freakishly large van around this instant young lady, do you hear me. Our Hillsboro hostess with the mostess Ginny provided us with room and board that was truly beyond expectations, and then went the extra mile by leaving us fresh baked cookies and veggies and dip for the road. Love her. Seriously. Thanks buddy.

Tomorrow will be the longest driving day and let's keep our fingers crossed that the cat continues with this good behavior. Stay tuned....

* Oh, the Travel Monkey isn't all that exciting. It's a little stuffed monkey I take on trips with me. Heidi and I have decided to name him Rufus.

An Open, Bittersweet, Letter to Seattle

Dear Seattle,

Well, old friend, it looks like it's our last night together. When I arrived at your doorstep, I was a 22 year old baby bunny rabbit, all wide-eyed to the world and dying for some adventure outside of Colorado, which I called home for my entire life. Now, 11 years later, we're parting ways and I'm off to hang with your older, more worldly, sister San Francisco. What a ride it's been - how to capture all of our time together?

I arrived unsure of what I was looking for, only that I was looking for something else. One time early on in our relationship I drove to Portland on a whim because I was bored and it totally slayed me that I could do that without asking anyone's permission. Check me out, driving three hours away without even telling my mom! You showed me what was possible, Seattle, if I went out there and did it.

Oh Seattle, with your sunny days spent lounging on Alki Beach and your rainy days spent wandering through Half Price Books, I'll miss you. You've given me Spicy Tuna Rolls at Chinoise on Queen Anne and pitchers of Mac and Jack at Linda's and spinach dip at Elephant and Castle and brunch at the Broadway Grill and crepes at 611 and countless happy hours at the Sitting Room.

You've shown me drag queen nuns at the Pride parade, a homeless guy relieving himself in the alley outside my first apartment, an irate Nordstorm shopper who "doesn't play that game," a Chicago native who could not pronounce "Factoria" and "San Jose" properly to save her life, and an executive's wife who once left a phone message for her husband that said "Just tell him the man who has been stalking me has been shot."

You've given me a few bad temp jobs, a stint as an overpaid receptionist/proposal monkey, and the courage to try out this wacky thing called Public Relations. You gave me Thomas the Wonder Cat and Mrs. Puff. You tested my heart and proved to me that I can survive even when it breaks into a million tiny pieces. Year after year, you've shown me how beautiful and clear and green and lush you can be on a sunny warm day in the spring after ten months of winter darkness.

We've both grown up so much since we first got together - a little wiser, a little more sophisticated and a little rougher around the edges given all of our experiences together. I'll miss you, old friend, but rest assured I'll be back. I couldn't leave you this easily, not after all we've been through together.

Fondly,
Beth

On the Topic of Living Car-Free

I've been living car-free since May of 2003, which puts my SBQ (Smug Bastard Quotiant) at about 4 million SBQ points these days. The car-free life hasn't been too bad overall - certainly not ideal, but I've managed pretty well thanks to some very kind friends who occasionally offer to haul my ass to Target and brunch every now and then. The combination of a bus pass plus my BFF Flexcar has really been a lifesaver.

Now that I'll be a California resident in just a few short days, I've been thinking/stressing out about what life will be like down there without a car. In the two trips I've made down to the Bay Area lately, it's been amazing to see the reactions that my car-free life gets from people. I might as well be a traveling circus freak, it seems - Californians seems to Love Their Cars Big Time. After all, in all those movie scenes of sporty convertibles driving along the Malibu highways, you don't exactly see buses and light rail, do you?


Take my recent apartment hunting experience - when I asked how close things were, i.e., the grocery store, restaurants, public transportation, etc., the notion of what is "close" and "far" were very different between the Car Drivers and the Non Car Drivers. When you don't have a car, your world shrinks tremendously. A twenty-minute drive to downtown San Francisco isn't exactly "close." Your basic needs need to be within easy walking distance - which is about six blocks, max, in my mind - let's face it, when you need cat food and brie at 10 p.m., you don't want to have to hoof it for a three mile walk.

On the bright side, my new apartment seems convenient to pretty much everything, including a Trader Joe's, which guarantees my access to affordable wine and cheese. We'll see how it goes in the coming weeks. Anyone out there got Bay Area public transport tips?

Rabbit Season/Duck Season? No, Tourist Season

Yesterday I sauntered to the Pike Place Market to grab some spicy chicken teriyaki for lunch and found myself scowling, cursing, and sighing with contempt. It's tourist season in Seattle. Swarms of them, like locusts, have invaded the city and are desperate to see the Space Needle and get a salmon thrown at them and drink real Starbucks coffee. Normally I roll my eyes and walk briskly past the tourists as I head to work or to the grocery store or wherever us Seattle resident-type folk hang out.

But this time I stopped...and realized that in less than a week I will be that dorky tourist asking people when the next ferry to Alcatraz departs and and posing for a picture next to a giant pot of crabs at Fisherman's Wharf. I will be that person who takes just a bit too long to ask for directions on the bus when the rest of the passengers just want to get to work already. No matter how much indie hipster street cred I may want to think I have, the fact is, I'm going to be walking around with my nose buried in my laminated Streetwise San Francisco map for at least the next six months and that makes me (sigh) a big ol' tourist.

So this summer, I'm proposing National Be Gentle With Tourists Season**, if only because many of us will probably find ourselves in that position this summer and could use a little help finding our ways around.

**This post will self destruct in about six months or however long it takes me to get my bearings and start snearing at tourists again like a local.

An Open Letter to the Cast, Crew and Producers of “The Holiday,”

Dear Cast, Crew and Producers of “The Holiday,”

Not since “13 Going on 30” have I desperately longed for a time machine, so that I could travel back to the Beth of Two Hours Ago, wrestle her/me to the ground and wrench the remote control from her/my hands so that I could get those two utterly wasted hours back. I feel robbed of my time after watching this fluffy, predictable mess, and these days I don’t have a lot of time to spare, which makes this movie all the more bothersome.

Listen, you’re all smart people. You’re all talented. I like you all, especially you, Jude Law, when you wear dorky glasses like you did. But, seriously, what were you thinking when you read this script? In the first 37 seconds, the following things are painfully, painfully obvious: Kate Winslet’s character will find her girl-power and Cameron Diaz’s character will learn to cry. Jude Law will be Flawed Somehow But Still Win Over The Pretty Girl and Jack Black’s doughy character will be cheated on by his supermodel/actress girlfriend and he will realize the Right Girl Was There All Along.

Sigh. See? I just gave away the entire plot in two sentences. Look, I swear my heart is not made of coal, I cry at Extreme Home Makeover like the rest of the world does. But oh, the things I could have spent my $3.99 on instead of this mess! I urge you all to go out and make some smart indie hipster movie to cleanse your souls of The Holiday immediately.

Until then,
Beth

What's in YOUR mailbox?

If you're like me, then your mail yesterday consisted of....

Credit card statement
Airline miles update
Safeway weekly sale ad
Pottery Barn catalog
AAA membership renewal form
Informational brochure about decreased sexual interest

Um, WHAT? Praytell, what box did I check that put me on this list? It's bad enough I'm no longer in the coveted 18-30 age group, but now this? Siiiiiigh. My cat lady support group is going to hear about this one.

Beth's San Fran apartment hunt: the kitchen sink is apparently very much included

Well folks, I think I found a place for the World of Beth to call home for a while, so talk about a huge, massive, enormous relief off my shoulders. Provided they don't find out about my extensive criminal record and restraining order from Philip Seymour Hoffman (note to potential landlords reading this: I'M KIDDING) I'll be calling the North Beach/Waterfront area home in just a couple weeks.

The apartment hunting process is just so disorienting. It's hard to walk into a stark, white-walled room and think of it as ever being yours, let alone cute and charming. It's especially tough when, in this case, the kitchen sink was in the process of being replaced and the old dirty sink was sitting smack in the middle of the living room. Hard to visualize my possessions and cat and personality in such a bare, still disheveled place, but I'm sure it will be nice once it's cleaned up and infused with Bethness.

Don't mean to be negative...I'm sure it will be fine....again, just tough to visualize at this point without a sink being in the middle of the room. But check out the picture. Pool! View! City location! Countdown is now two weeks and counting....make your reservations NOW, loyal readers for your SF visits.

Q&A With The New San Francisco Treat

Oh lordie. Looks like my big San Francisco news has spawned some questions from readers:

Q: Look here, missy. You can't just unload and say you're moving without any warning like that. Have you been planning this thing secretly for months and just not telling your loyal readers?

A: For the sake of my sanity, I wish I HAD been planning it for months, but the fact is that I just found out about this opportunity a couple of weeks ago. Seriously. No plans to move before then. No desire to uproot and leave Seattle, really. Left field, meet the World of Beth.

Q: Um, you don't sound very excited about this move. You sound kind of freaked out.

A: I am excited, believe me. When does one get a chance like this handed to them on a platter? I love Seattle like a BFF, but it's been 11 years since I came here and maybe the time's come to think about making a change. Why move now and to San Francisco? Why the hell NOT? The whole thing is actually quite serendipitous if you think about it. I have always thought of San Francisco has Seattle's older, more sophisticated sister city and the fact that I will call it home is....exciting and amazing.

But, let's be clear, I'm also pretty freaked out.

Q: (Cringing) Did you actually just use the word serendipitous?

A: Clearly I'm already feeling the California energy, man. In all seriousness though, sometimes when you're struggling to make a decision or a life change, the universe comes around and makes it for you.

Q: But....where will you live? What will you do? How will you get down there? How will Mrs. Puff adapt? It's only three weeks away and you don't even have an apartment lined up.

A: First of all, that's not even a question. That's a trap to get me into the fetal position. I'm getting more coffee and sitting out on my patio now to get my mind off of you. Good day, sir.

Q: But...you didn't answer my questions....

A: I SAID GOOD DAY.