Smacksy Sunday Links

Photo Tucker Judkins

A love story.

You are born.

Rules for hosting a crappy dinner party.

I have a thing for oddly specific Victorian serving utensils. Now you know.

A deserted Utopian village.

And a baby aardvark.

Happy Sunday.

Smacksy Saturday Photo: LEGO Returns

About a year and a half ago, Bob declared that he just wasn't into LEGO anymore. Considering over the years I had stepped on a crippling number of LEGO pieces in bare feet, I was surprised at how disappointed I was to hear that he had decided he was done.

Then, two days ago, a miraculous thing happened. LEGO is back. Bob pulled a couple of unopened sets out of his closet and the kitchen table-as-building-station has returned. I am delighted. And I am wearing hard-soled slippers.

Odds

Based on prior experience, odds of me attempting to enter wrong vehicle upon my return to the parking area: 80%

Sleep Tight

How could you not have sweet dreams in this scenario?

At Dodger Camp

It was a glorious day. Photo by Laura Chin

Parking Lots, A History

I have often lamented (yes, I lament) that part of my soul will forever be with my friend Yolanda in the withering 1983 heat, as we search aimlessly for my lost Toyota hatchback in the endless desert that the promotors of The Us Festival referred to as a parking area. An unmarked desert-scape in San Bernardino was used to park cars for 670,000 people.

In 1997, I lost my car in the multi-level parking garage of the Glendale Galleria. After an hour and ten minutes of solid searching, including a ride in a Galleria golf cart with one of the sketchy parking dudes, I was forced to call a friend to pick me up. I vowed never to return. I returned later to find my car once the lot was mostly empty and I could spot my brown Volvo easier, but then I really, really vowed never to return. I never returned.

I followed this event with subsequent missing-car situations at the Beverly Center, The Grove, and LAX Economy Parking Lot C. My current master plan to not have to UBER everywhere for the rest of my life, involves an intricate allegiance to using the same, sometimes extremely out of the way,  parking spot whenever I go anywhere with a lot bigger than my two-car driveway.

During my thirty-five years of living in Los Angeles, I have visited the Cedars Sinai Medical Center dozens of times. The hospital itself is comprised of ten buildings totaling more than 2.8 million square feet. There are eleven parking lots not including employee parking. There is one small outdoor lot, P2, where I always park. P2 is located on the corner of George Burns Drive and Gracie Allen Drive. I can see my car  parked in P2 from any west facing window in the hospital complex, rendering my car virtually un-losable.

 The Prius, Exact Location

When I arrived at Cedars yesterday, New Year's Day, I was horrified to find that P2, my lot, was closed for the holiday. I was forced to park in the dreaded multi-level P1 in the North Tower. In order to find my way back, I took the following photos:

Space #

Lot/Floor/Section

Elevator Bank

Yes, the photo-system worked. I found my way back. In the name of all that is holy, let's never do that again.

Me-of-the-Future

Full Moon  2018-style

For the past two years, I've participated in the Future Me writing project. Write a letter to your one-year-in-the-future self, and it will be emailed to you in one year. 

Yesterday, I received last year's letter. It's sort of a wish list, sort of a high five. I'm sharing it with you here. 

Dear FutureMe, 
Congratulations on another year in the books. 
Against the odds, you've maintained your sobriety and your faith. 
You're surrounded by people you adore, who adore you back. 
Your family is a strong force of good in the world. 
You did what it takes to get your health back and endured a lot of uncomfortable BS to make it happen. 
You spent less time sitting at the computer and more time writing on the computer. 
It all felt easier this year since you learned to look after yourself first. 
You've loved, created, sung, cried, and laughed - accepting all the life stuff and you've approached it with grace, and forgiveness. 
It's all okay. It's all going to be okay. 
Love, 
Me

I'm going to continue the tradition. Consider it.