”Excuse me. Where can I find pull-ups?”

She pauses, looks up for a moment, and begins to point.  “I think they are in in aisle-”, then she stops abruptly, and looks at me.  “I’m on my lunch break.”

Really?  Because, I would have wasted 2 seconds less of your lunch break had you bothered to say the aisle number instead of those additional 5 words.

I know all my peeps back in California think this is a podunk place, and probably wonder as they sit stuck in the 405 traffic what the hell we Grahams do out here in our spare time.  We do plenty.  It simply doesn’t involve getting our ankles wet from the Pacific Ocean, hanging out on the veranda at the Getty Museum, or watching the Griffith Observatory go up in flames.  There are, however, flames ravaging in Georgia, and that’s a hot skip and a jump from here.

Last weekend we went to our second Crawfish Festival.  Our first one took place in 1999 in Chalmette when we visited Louisiana shortly after our engagement.   They don’t have crawfish festivals there anymore because that’s one of the places Katrina the Bitch pretty much obliterated.   There are crawfish to be had in Abita Springs though, and that’s where we headed.  So did everyone else, but I reckon the on-location Yellow Handkerchief filming with William Hurt mainly propelled the crowd.

Here’s what 2.5 lbs of crawfish look like:    And?  Did you know you can get your own birdhouse embodying that of a FEMA trailer?   

When there isn’t a festival to attend, we usually find ourselves dropping in on a birthday party.  Today was Grier’s 2nd birthday.

The party took place in Bogue Falaya park.  Thick cypress tree canopies sheltered us from the piercing rays.   The Bogue Falaya river ran nearby, fallen trees from Katrina dotting the shore.  It was one of those parties you could go to, mingle with people, and partake in a variety of conversations.  It was one of those parties where you could be by yourself too.  An opportunity to enjoy the quiet, honey-like heat infiltrating the forest, the Elmo party hats, ourselves. 

You can’t ever go wrong with birthdays when they fall on the weekend.  You especially can’t go wrong when you have some of your closest friends fly in to celebrate your special day.  And, when they come in with their beautiful 4 month old child, well, that takes the birthday cake.

We spent much regalement with Holly, Thomas, and little Trey Friday through Sunday.  The weather prevented us from doing much outdoor activity, but that came as a blessing.  We managed to catch up on two award-reaping movies from last year:  Borat and The Pursuit of Happyness.  Yes spellcheck, I know Happyness is misspelled.  Much to Alex’s excitement, Holly stroked my hair as promised during the unwinding evenings.  And I reciprocated.  When Holly and I weren’t languidly sprawled out on the living room floor, we turned our attention to Trey.  It pleased me to see Holly follow my breastfeeding techniques successfully. 

I also secretly liked watching Gage get bothered by Trey’s monopoly on attention.   “Don’t laugh, Trey,” commanded Gage.  “Trey needs a timeout.”  He’d then slyly creep over to the vibrating Fisher-Price bouncer, and turn off the music controls as Trey gurgled contently.  As if we wouldn’t notice the ocean sounds suddenly stop.

After their departure Sunday morning, Alex, Gage, and I moseyed (only in the South do people mosey) to the French Quarter Festival.  It’s just another excuse for people to coalesce together for food and music.  Kind of a Jazzfest Lite, but free. And without humidity.  A number of restaurant tents served gumbo, charboiled oysters, mojitos, crepes, softshell crab po-boys, to name a few.

 When we departed, it was only 2pm.  Enough time for me to meet up with friend and photographer Jason to do some character shots.

It was on my 32nd birthday that I decided to initiate a photoblog: 32 Every Day on Flickr.

Five years ago, I went to a wine tasting room with a group of friends in West LA.  Our condo, within walking distance, disallowed the need for a designated driver.  How often can you find that in Los Angeles?

Ten years ago, a group of friends (some of them not so friends now) took me to a bar in Westwood where two pianists played.  Duelingly.  Duettly?  You know.

Fifteen years ago, my aunt threw a surprise birthday party at a Chinese restaurant in Irvine.  Surrounded by close friends and theatre comrades, we communed over sesame shrimp and eggrolls.  And karaoke, yes!

Twenty years ago, I had a slumber party.  We all had our Cabbage Patch Kids with us, naturally.

Twenty-five years ago, a girly birthday party.  Filled with jumpropes and hopscotch, and pink flowers on cake.

Yes, my birthday is on April 15th.  Yes, that’s Tax Day, when it’s on a weekday.  Yes, Titanic sank on this day.  Yes, Abraham Lincoln died on this day.  Melancholic, isn’t it?  Aptly named Melany, I am.

Not so melancholic on leaving 31 though.  Rather glad about that.  Much of the year spent drifting mentally… likened to a piece of driftwood, if you will, in an ocean of caca dodo. 

“Why do couples bother to come to this kind of place with newborns?  This would be the LAST place on my mind.”

“Some couples see this as an opportunity to spend time together.  They enjoy being together in this kind of place as a family.”

“I guess I’m just a pessimist and see the glass as half empty.”

“No, you’re a PMSist.”

Am I allowed to mope about my life?  I pay taxes, have a checkbook, a family, and a mortgage note to pay.   I am supposed to feel empowered.

Nothing is uncomplicated.  Human intervention makes sure of that.  Demons from one’s past makes sure of that.

Sometimes I read my journals from high school and college and laugh.  Nothing has changed.  Nothing.  It is paradoxically soothing and maddening at the same time.

 

1. What do you do for a living?
I tell people that I am an actor… even though I presently work at an engineering consultant firm.

2. Describe a childhood memory.
My most clear and vivid childhood memories are of sitting in the back of dark theaters with my crayons while my mom worked. Very atmospheric. I suppose that’s why I feel so at home when I’m in a theater. Cliche?

3. Favorite drink.
Ice cold diet Pepsi

4. Favorite scene/line in a movie?
This is a hard one – there are so many. The dinner date scene in Drop Dead Fred between Phoebe Cates and Ron Eldard is maybe one of the funniest physical comedy scenes ever. Let’s go with that one for today.

5. Who is the man behind the curtain?
Philosophical. Observant. Hungry. Surprisingly optimistic. Big nerd.