Saturday Fun with Scott!
I've been feeling sorry for myself the last few days (see previous entry). I called J this morning to share my misery (aren't I the greatest?!) She was at the neighbor's, so I talked to J (her husband), instead. I told him I was bored and he bristled, saying, "You live in California, and you're bored? What is wrong with you? Just go to the beach and kill the whole day!" Then he told me about his myriad health problems, all chronic, all extremely painful. Then he said the kids got sick, he and J got sick, everyone's been puking the last week...then he said he reminded me how much the town he and J live in sucks and how he much he hates it, and how much he wants to go back to California (he lived in San Diego for quite some time).
So I get over myself, ran my errands, and went to Venice, strangely one of my favorite places on Earth. I seem to be able to regroup there. It's odd, because the first time I was there was last year on vacation, when I was staying at the lovely Cadillac Hotel (four stars people, four stars - okay, make that one star or no stars- I think I've mentioned my talent at booking nice hotels before, right?) Anyhow, I was here that week, driving around L.A., interviewing for jobs, getting lost, feeling lonely because I did go on vacation by my damn self. So even though I felt disconnected and alone at that time, I do go back to Venice since I've moved here to pull my head out of my ass. Kind of ironic, in a way.
Anyway, I met Scott. Well, Scott met me, more like it. Scott, the roving tarot card reader. We sat ourselves down in the grass between the beach and the promenade and he preceded to read my fortune via the cards... he said he specifically didn't want any information from me other than my name so we could test his psychic ability (see why this is fun?!) So I pulled out my seven cards from the deck, and this is what he had to say about my cards and me: I'm creative, yet stymied, but I had a 'fire' - like that? A fire?! That's fun. Anyway, then he started babbling about being a writer and writing, and writers he's known and how Martin Scorcese's wife gave him $40 for a reading (I didn't give him $40, okay) and that she wrote a book. So about my fire - I was going to meet someone or already knew someone that could guide me in the creative process, and once that was established, I would have several balls in the air and would manage them all well, and in the meantime make some money doing what I loved to do. (Like $40, maybe...) Also, I was too distracted but once I was able to focus and narrow the scattered thoughts better, I would be able to be creative once again.
At the end of this little meeting I asked if I could take his picture because I had already planned on posting his goofy ass on the blog here, but I left my camera in the car...oh well. Would have made the entry worth reading if there was an actual pic, huh? I did have to take a picture of my feet in the water anyway, so after I did that I was tempted to go try to find him, but he had said earlier he was headed off to the medical marijuana place and I didn't know where that was...oh well.
That's the Scott story.
So I get over myself, ran my errands, and went to Venice, strangely one of my favorite places on Earth. I seem to be able to regroup there. It's odd, because the first time I was there was last year on vacation, when I was staying at the lovely Cadillac Hotel (four stars people, four stars - okay, make that one star or no stars- I think I've mentioned my talent at booking nice hotels before, right?) Anyhow, I was here that week, driving around L.A., interviewing for jobs, getting lost, feeling lonely because I did go on vacation by my damn self. So even though I felt disconnected and alone at that time, I do go back to Venice since I've moved here to pull my head out of my ass. Kind of ironic, in a way.
Anyway, I met Scott. Well, Scott met me, more like it. Scott, the roving tarot card reader. We sat ourselves down in the grass between the beach and the promenade and he preceded to read my fortune via the cards... he said he specifically didn't want any information from me other than my name so we could test his psychic ability (see why this is fun?!) So I pulled out my seven cards from the deck, and this is what he had to say about my cards and me: I'm creative, yet stymied, but I had a 'fire' - like that? A fire?! That's fun. Anyway, then he started babbling about being a writer and writing, and writers he's known and how Martin Scorcese's wife gave him $40 for a reading (I didn't give him $40, okay) and that she wrote a book. So about my fire - I was going to meet someone or already knew someone that could guide me in the creative process, and once that was established, I would have several balls in the air and would manage them all well, and in the meantime make some money doing what I loved to do. (Like $40, maybe...) Also, I was too distracted but once I was able to focus and narrow the scattered thoughts better, I would be able to be creative once again.
At the end of this little meeting I asked if I could take his picture because I had already planned on posting his goofy ass on the blog here, but I left my camera in the car...oh well. Would have made the entry worth reading if there was an actual pic, huh? I did have to take a picture of my feet in the water anyway, so after I did that I was tempted to go try to find him, but he had said earlier he was headed off to the medical marijuana place and I didn't know where that was...oh well.
That's the Scott story.
1 Comments:
You really do meet some strange people, don't you? I wonder if anyone has given Scott $40 because of his Scorcese story? I bet he's making a decent living from that.
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