Smoking Lavender in Shaky Town

Of course I had no desire whatsoever to get back on that plane to Gotham. I've fallen in love with a new apple. A shinier, healthier, slightly smaller and better tasting apple. Goddamnit San Francisco! Why'de you have to be so sexy?

Every cuisine that I tried on for size in San Fran (Japanese,Thai,Italian..everything that we've got here in Gotham) tasted so much more authentic and native. Just like any McDonald's everywhere else in the world besides America. Apart from all the culinary wonders, something else struck a chord with me. I've never seen more homeless people in my existence.

I'm not writing about the homeless problem in San Fran. I am writing about the most incredibly generous, kind and humane homeless people I have ever met. They were young and old (mostly middle-aged) and usually male. To hear some of their stories was to warm your cold and wretched Gotham heart. Because if you live here in Gotham, you sure as hell know that the homeless people aren't very tenderhearted.

We decided to walk the entire length and width of the city because it was perfect sized to do so. On our way from Union Square to Haight Ashbury, we encountered a man who seemed to be severely down on his luck. We spotted him while climbing the hills ( holy cardio).He was hard to miss because the homeless in San Fran are sometimes ridiculously stylish. He was wearing a floor length fur coat (it was the dead of summer), tie dyed pants and crazy silver bling.

As we passed him, we overheard him talking to himself, and he was pissed! From what we could decipher, he just learned that he had a son and that "son of a bitch whore shoulda told me this shit earlier!!!" He also had a giant gash over his left eye and was bleeding. Naturally, we stopped and asked if we could help him somehow. His name was Ryan and he was indeed homeless. He also seemed to be that breed of drug addict who was permenantly tripping (sounds like a dream to some but trust me, it's horrid) and he didn't go into detail about his personal life. Ryan didn't need any help from us but bummed a couple of smokes, thanked us and smiled his big toothless smile.
We bumped into him at the entrance of Golden Gate Park two hours later. He came up to us smiling his smile, with dried blood taking over his left eye and held out a handful of lavender.

"Hey! What's up man? You wanna smoke some lavender with me? This shit is amazing man. Look man, it's lavender. And you smoke it. Oh man, it's great. It's for you guys, take it. There's more where that came from. I want you to have it man"

I was touched. Ryan had nothing but lavender and he shared it with us. And he wasn't the only one. I received more gifts from the homeless on that trip than I could possibly imagine I ever would. Pins, clothes, buttons, lucky pennies and wishes for eternal prosperity and health for me and my entire family was what was bestowed upon me. There wasn't a trick to it. People love to be noticed and listened to. I stopped, spoke and treated these people like people. I wish everyone that I met on that trip plenty of health and luck in their lives. As for Ryan, I hope you get healthy enough to take part in your son's life and tell him all the crazy stories you've lived through, man.

Come Fly With Me

"Why fly? Simple. I'm not happy unless there's some room between me and the ground."- Richard Bach


On a lovely spring morning in May, like plenty of other spring mornings, I awoke with jumpy adrenaline butterflies tying an ethereal knot in my stomach. It was an ethereal one because this was to be my first day of flight. I had two hours to find a willing companion to drive me to my first flight lesson and ride in the back of a 4 seater plane. I frantically searched through my phonebook for people with balls.

I came across the name of my crush. He and I have been friends for years and I've had a thing for him for most of that time. I'm happy to report that he had balls and said that he would accompany me on what my other friends deemed a "suicide mission, kamikaze style". I jumped up and down on my bed for about ten minutes and then braided feathers in my hair. This was to be much more than a flight lesson for me but a rite of passage.

My great grandfather was one of the most highly decorated fighter pilots in World War II and a prominent figure in the sky diving world. He owned and operated his own flight and sky diving classes after the war. With his gorgeous turquoise blue eyes and shiny toothy smile, he was a handsome man. No one in my family enjoys to fly. I was definitely my great grandfather's spirit encarnate.

After having tackled sky diving two years prior and coming close to my Class A license, I had to give it up to a minor injury that was nagging me ( as well as for my poor parents who turned into chain smoking shaking humans whose life I was progressively ruining with my new found love of adrenaline) . The natural progression of my love for the sky lead me to want to fly the actual plane versus diving out of it. My phone rang its Pulp Fiction ringtone and off I went, with the butterflies fiercely creating intricate embroidery knots in my tummy.

We arrived at the gate and were met by my flight instructor. After giving me the lowdown on the equipment and making me sign several safety and insurance papers, we were ready to see my plane and begin the day. Needless to say, I wasn't exactly surprised that my vessel for the day was a 1976 Piper Warrior plane, a little old and a little rinky dinky. I wasn't expecting the latest equipment anyway, but apparently my crush/passenger was. What made matters a little iffy was when the instructor jumpstarted the propeller, he had to kick it. For my demented mind, that made this experience that much more thrilling.

The hardest part of flight is the takeoff and the landing. With my crush sitting in the back and the instructor sitting next to me, I had a nearly flawless first takeoff. It was a little unnerving because the smaller the plane is, the more you feel every bump and crevice of the wind. Upon reaching cruising altitude, I felt my breathe being swept away from me. It was heartbreakingly beautiful; the sharp green lands, the navy blue majestic Atlantic, the cotton candy clouds. I felt the passion and total stillness of the soul that my great grandfather must have felt every day of his lucky life. It was a silencing of the mind and the understanding of how insignificant you were in the grand spectrum of this world.

Most of the flight was spent in silence, with my instructor whispering flight commands in the headset. The silence was peppered with "oh"s and "wow"s and "holy shit"s. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that you actually get to FLY the plane on your first try. It wouldn't have been my cup of tea to just play the ride along game. It was now time to land; the hardest part of the flight.

My instructor told me that I had to follow his words to the utmost last grammatical point. This part of the lesson was the trickiest and also the most dangerous. My inner devil smirked. It's not that I have a death wish, it's just my need for adrenaline coupled with my natural euphoric high led me to attempt to land this plane on my own accord. Unfortunately, I was about 3 minutes into my own plan when the instructor took the controls and "re-routed" me. He laughed into the headset, said something about me being a "natural pilot" and told me that he wasn't joking when he said to follow his instructions.

The landing was a little bit bumpy because we were rushed due to oncoming traffic on the landing strip. However, we were on the ground safe and sound. I turned around and my crush, looking a little shaken, was smiling ear to ear. "That was fuckin' awesome". I know. That was to be our first date. We have since eloped and will be planning a lovely wedding party for the family folk soon.

I've realized that being a professional pilot is not something that I could financially pursue today. After speaking with several professional pilots, I have learned that their family and social lives suffer greatly because of the hours needed at the job. You are pretty much living in the sky for the majority of your life. That would be amazing except I have fallen in love and still have a family to create in the future. I will pursue this as the most magnificant hobby ever. My great grandfather and I would have been the best team. I resemble him and I know he's shared a bit of his soul with me. He would be very proud.

Cultural Confusion and other ice cream flavors

Nothing confuses me more than myself. With the entire exotic and vast world out there to see and explore, I find that the more that I look, the more confused I become.I wasn't adopted and I know who most of my family members are. I come from a mixed European lineage of both paupers and blue blood.

My problem is that I fall in love so hard with cultures and places that I find myself easily blending into their world. I start to think,dream,speak and eat in their language. I forget my sense of self and willingly suspend disbelief to become a vessel for humanism. That doesn't appear to be a problem in print, but in life it is quite a different color.

In order to function successfully in society, is it possible to walk around with a cameleon coat of cultures? I have preferred other cultures to my own ever since I was about six. I was introduced to my first best friend in America, an Ecuadorian girl, and was soon dancing merengue better than her Ecuadorian family at their family parties. My friends were a U.N. gathering of nations then and that's the way I've always preferred it.

Perhaps I'm still "finding myself" or some other cliche bullshit term for people who know who they are and are just completely comfortable living as many lives in the lifetime as possible. Whatever the case may be, I no longer feel as bothered by not wanting to be only what was determined by my birth. My horizons have expanded with ease and continue to expand without confusion.

All Hail Bourdain

As I sit here, sipping on my Chilean vino purchased oh so economically from the vendor across the boulevard, I realize that a lifestyle change is imminent. Since I am a mere virgin on this online utopia of writers, I will take a moment to introduce myself. I am a professional actress living and working in NYC. I was introduced to the world in the wonderfully dark and communist Moscow, Russia. I have lived in New York City for 3/4 of my life.

I am young but have dealt with enough tough poker hands in life to feel significantly older than my age. With that out of the way, I would like to make the commonplace vanilla statement that Anthony Bourdain may have just changed my life. As most of you may assume, if you aren't blessed with the genetic Barrymore or any other Hollywood lineage name, you will find yourself out of a job for most of your career. It won't take 20 questions to figure out where I fit in today.

I never watch television, by the way. I find that it makes me lose copious amounts of braincells faster than any Caribbean street candy. However, I stopped and hesitated at the Travel Channel (about 5 years too late) and panicked. I was watching No Reservations and I couldn't turn it off for the life of me. I blame it on his charm....charming son of a gun. We have alot in common (smoking, drinking, New Yorkers...you don't need much to feel connected to another human nowadays) and he seems to be living out my dream.

What more, as people in this absurd world, do we need? Good food, exploration, love and fascination. I intend to rethink my life and perhaps venture onto the path I was always meant for. I am an old traveler soul seeking manifestation.