I don’t have a great track record with electronics. I usually lose a camera once a year, and a phone once every two years. While my family insists I do this purposefully with the intent of always upgrading to the latest model; I’m really just clumsy and absent minded. It was worse in my 20′s, but now that I’m in my mid 40′s I’m noticing a another degradation LOL. Guess I’m somewhere between 45 and Alzheimer’s! I went back to look how many times I’ve blogged about getting a new camera and it’s a little embarrassing. Nevertheless, after losing my beloved Canon Powershot SD3500 in January, I’ve been using my old G9 and waiting for a new model to be released that I’ve had my eye on. So here it is, my new baby:

I sacrificed a couple of megapixels for a faster CMOS sensor with high sensitivity. The screen is slightly smaller (3.2″ vs 3.5″), and the zoom is slightly lower (4.4x vs 5x) but it has full 1080p high definition video, High Speed Burst mode (up to 8.2 frames per second) and Av/Tv (aperture priority and shutter priority) shooting modes. It also has an neat Vivid Color setting, which makes photos look like paintings, as well as poster and miniature functionality. Take a look:

Of course, the proof’s in the pudding, so here are some photos I took this weekend:

No politics this week….my family has forbidden it:

Dear President Obama,

I am one of your biggest supporters.  I believe what you have accomplished in two years has restored our country’s reputation around the world and helped millions of hard working Americans.  I have sometimes wished that you could move faster on many things (Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Guantanamo Bay & Afghanistan to name a few), but I trust your judgment and know that you are working as hard as you can. 

That said, I must take issue with your recent stance on the tightened security policies of the Transportation Security Administration (TSA).  You say you “get it“, but I’m not sure that you do.  I know that the Republican Party and Fox News are up in arms about the new measures; and though I rarely agree with Fox News, I must yield to them on this matter.  However, I don’t necessarily agree with them for the same reasons.  I’m not really concerned with someone “touching my junk” when I go through a pat down; nor am I personally worried about:

• The pat down leaving me covered in my own urine
• Having to remove my prosthetic breast
• Having my young son strip searched in front of everyone in the airport
• Removing my leg braces
• Throwing up on the plane due to repressed memories surfacing
• My 3 year old little girl screaming “Stop touching me!”

What I am worried about Mr. President is the bureaucratization of terror.  Starting with the failed policies of your predecessor, the TSA has become a laughing stock.  They are inept at best, criminal at worst.  Though America isn’t Israel, we could learn a lot from the Israelis.  It’s called behavioral profiling not racial profiling.  You can’t profile breast implants and shoes.  It’s about being smarter, not reacting every time someone tries to ignite their underwear.

As someone who used to fly 3-4 times a week for 13 years all around the world, I can honestly say I’m glad I’m done.  I will opt out of these ridiculous policies, because they are nothing more than theater of the absurd.  We’re not safer.  The terrorists are laughing at us.  Every time I hear the words “I’ll put up with anything if it makes us safer…” I cringe.  People who spew such nonsense don’t fly more than once or twice a year, and are woefully misinformed.  If I were you Mr. President, I would immediately fire Janet Incompetano and John Pistole.  Replace them with people who possess the same critical thinking skills that you do, and can respond to this mounting public outcry. 

If you figure this out Mr. President, people will begin flying again.  I was going to fly somewhere for Thanksgiving this week.  I have canceled my trip.  If I’m meant to die in a terrorist attack, so be it.  I’ve had a good life.  No amount of groping or probing will keep me safer.  The terrorists are smarter than that.  I do somewhat wish I was flying this week though, as I would love to have someone videotape me while I’m being patted down.  Did you ever see the movie, When Harry Met Sally?  Think of this scene, and then think of me being patted down by the TSA.  Trust me Mr. President.  I have a flare for the dramatic, and that would be one hell of a viral video.

Dog Bless America,

Carey

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Speaking of government bureaucracy, I just posted the following on Yelp:

Going to West Hollywood City Hall at 8 AM on a Monday morning is the worst way to start your week.  I needed to pull a permit to replace some windows in my condo.  After waiting for the receptionist to finish a personal phone call, I was directed to the second floor.  They have the slowest elevator I’ve ever seen, and no stairs for the public.  Up to the second floor I went.  There was one person at a desk texting on his cell phone, paying no attention, and another at a counter helping a contractor; who had blueprints laid out from hell to breakfast.  After 5 minutes of no one acknowledging my presence, I finally interrupted the texter who then told me I needed to go to Planning.  I went to Planning and waited until the most jaded, bitter, bureaucratic queen I’ve ever met showed up.  He looked at my paperwork and let out a heavy sigh.  He handed me a form to fill out, and started pecking on his keyboard, seemingly exasperated.  He kept asking me questions about my windows and I kept referring him to the drawings and plans that I had meticulously prepared.  After 15 minutes of dramatic paper shuffling, he sent me down to the cashier to pay $97.11 for “zoning clearance”.

I took the elevator back downstairs and gave the cashier my debit card and asked if I could also pay for my parking permits.  She told me that Parking Permits were handled in another department.  I walked to that department and met Junior Jaded Bitter Bureaucrat #2.  He told me they only accept Parking Permit requests via mail.  I informed him that it was the 21st Century and that I check my mail two or three times a year at best.  I asked if I could just pay for the permit there, and was told they only accept checks by mail.  I informed him I didn’t have a checkbook, because again, it was the 21st Century.  I haven’t written a check in 10 years, and wasn’t about to go to my bank and request a cashier’s check as he suggested.  The 80′s called.  They want their payment methods back!  He finally acquiesced and let me pay the $44 for the parking permits by debit card.  A small victory, but it felt good.

I then had to take the elevator back upstairs to show my receipt to Planning, who directed me to Permits, where I had to basically start over.  As it turns out, Jaded Bitter Bureaucrat #1 was delightful compared to Jaded Bitter Bureaucrat #3, who worked in Permits and clearly hated life.  He looked at me, waiting for me to tell him what I needed without even asking if he could help me.  The staring contest went on for several seconds until he finally broke down and asked what I was there for.  I told him I needed a window permit.  He asked if I had filled out an application, and I said I thought I had.  He said it wasn’t in the paperwork, and directed me to a wall of forms where I had to search for the right one.  He asked for a letter from my Homeowner’s Association, which I told him I had given to the Permits Department.  He rolled his eyes and walked away.  5 minutes later, he came back with my Homeowner’s Association letter.  He then asked how many windows I was replacing and I told him three, as documented right in front of him.  He asked how many bedrooms I had, and I pointed to the clearly drawn layout right in front of his face.  He found out that one of the windows needed to be lowered, thanks to a ridiculously archaic city code, so he had to get his supervisor and lumbered away.  5 minutes went by and the supervisor sauntered up.  We’ll call him Ultimate Bitter Jaded Bureaucrat #4, who ended up being the most jaded and bitter of them all.  He was clearly the highest paid too, as evidenced by his Dolce & Gabbana sweater and Botoxed face that had not smiled since the first Bush administration.  (The other two were wearing Izod and Ralph Lauren accordingly.  It was a chilly day.)  He proceeded to look at my drawings and draw identical lines on them to accentuate my lines.  He took his time, and shuffled a lot of paper even more dramatically then JBB #1 (He must have had a Master’s in paper shuffling).  He basically did nothing but huff and puff for 10 minutes and ask me questions that I had already been asked 3 times; the answers to which were clearly documented.  He then sent me back downstairs in the elevator from hell (to hell?) to pay $341.17 for my permit. 

I then took the elevator back up to purgatory, where I watched JBB #3 slowly stamp all of my paperwork, and hand it to me without as much as a whisper.  I asked if that was all I needed and he nodded affirmatively.  I know that no bureaucracy is fun to deal with, but West Hollywood is supposed to be a friendly, progressive city.  The staff at City Hall rivaled the TSA in terms of bitterness and rudeness.  I’m surprised they didn’t pat me down!  I payed them $482.28 for nothing but condescension and laziness.  For those of you who think living in a city like this would be all pink roses and rainbow flags, this is a cautionary tale.  I won’t even go into how one of the mayors here thinks that a ban on smoking is ridiculous, because West Hollywood is all about sex and rock & roll.  Ugh.  In the few short years that West Hollywood has been a city, the bureaucrats have made it no different than any other greedy, over regulated place to live.  If property values weren’t still so low, you can bet I would be looking for another place to live.  Until then, I’m going to manage with what I have.  I have no desire to deal with the city again.  The whole experience left me jaded…and bitter.

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If you’ve read this far, you’re probably looking for some photos from the week.  Here they are:

To explain how the week ended with me in the back of a police car, we have to back up to the beginning.  It was another busy week at The Hotel Careyfornia.  Mike was in town on yet another stop on his trip around the world.  Darlene came home from her summer in Michigan with fresh pasties.  I took Arielle to the pumpkin patch, which has become somewhat of a tradition.  The night before Halloween was spent at Griffith Park Observatory with Sam & Charlotte.  It was an unusually clear day in Los Angeles and as the sun set into the Pacific, Halloween was upon us.  As I wondered  how I could top my outfit 2 years ago, when Sarah Palin was running for vice president and I was a moose in a bulletproof vest; and last year, when I was Balloon Boy’s dad, taking pictures with all the cute Balloon Boys; it struck me.  This year I would take the conservative route, and dress as a nice, Midwestern, pedophile priest!  It was a lot of fun.  Surprisingly, no one was offended by my costume.  Even the (real) cops asked to take my picture.  The best costume of the night for me was the BP Oil Spill.  There were lots of Chilean miners and Snookies and of course standard Lady GaGa fare.  Let the fun begin:

What a week!  After arriving from Africa, Darlene & Jay left California on Monday and Rob arrived on Tuesday.  It was a whirlwind week, and he made me realize I’m not as young as I used to be.  I think I slept a total of  six hours all week!  We had a great time though, as these photos will attest.  It was exciting to have him here on Wednesday when the California Supreme Court finally ruled that Proposition 8, the ban on gay marriage, was unconstitutional.  My feelings on this are well documented.  It was nice to be able to attend the rally in West Hollywood with Rob and celebrate this small victory on the road to equality.  For those of you who don’t agree, please watch this:  :) 

What follows, are two completely unrelated stories that are ultimately about hope and inspiration:

I would like everyone to grab a box of tissues and read this story.  I want you to think about it the next time you get angry while driving.  I know I will.  I’m an admittedly terrible driver, and have been guilty of road rage many times.  I’ve been working on driving more calmly for several years, but living in Los Angeles, relapses are easy.  I hope that the memory of what happened to this family and their little boy will forever stay with me when I’m behind the wheel. Life is indeed too short.

When a porn star and a college student driving through the San Fernando Valley fell into conflict, a Bangladeshi American family suffered the consequences

Los Angeles magazine, February 2010

On the Internet you can watch a four-minute video clip of Ayman Arif dancing. The venue is a bedroom in his Northridge home; his stage, a comforter patterned with sunflowers. Taking his cues from a Bollywood spectacular playing on the television, the four-year-old Bangladeshi American boy wriggles, twirls, and bounds. On his bare chest he wears the pink string sash of the Brahman jester he is pretending to be. His mop of brown hair gives way to a wide forehead, and his dark brown eyes are bright with fire as he sings along to the Bengali-language soundtrack. One moment he’s wagging a stern finger, the next he’s clasping his hands to his heart or pumping an outstretched palm toward the heavens.  

On Tuesday, October 9, 2007, some ten months after her son’s impromptu performance made it onto YouTube, Syeda Arif was readying her family for the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Fitr—three days of gift giving, party hopping,overeating, and prayer to conclude the fast of Ramadan. At 30, Syeda was petite, with almond-shaped eyes and a husky laugh. She and her husband, Amir, lived in a Bangladeshi enclave in the northwest San Fernando Valley. Her father had been twice nominated to the Bangladeshi parliament, and Amir liked to say that she made friends with the ease of a born politician.

Around noon in the gathering heat of the day, Syeda buckled her two-month-old daughter, Ikra, into the car seat in her Honda Civic and drove to the home of Romey Islam, one of her best friends. The Islams lived in a modest gray ranch house on Sherman Way near Van Nuys Airport. Its soundproof front windows looked out onto a six-lane river of crosstown traffic that, like the row of palm trees lining the sidewalk, continued as far as the eye could follow. Read more…

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And keeping in the vain of “life’s too short”, here’s another article I highly recommend taking the time to read.  It’s an inspiring look at Roger Ebert, perhaps the best known film critic in America.  Those of you in other countries have probably never heard of him, but I’ve always had a special affinity for Mr. Ebert.  He was a fixture in Chicago where I grew up, and his movie reviews with Gene Siskel and patented “thumbs up or down” are legendary.  Five years ago, when the movie “Rent” came out, I was very excited.  Any regular reader of this space knows that seeing the musical “Rent” in 1996 was a seminal event in my life.  I went on to see the show 15 times in 15 different countries!  While I was a bit underwhelmed by the transition from stage to screen; subsequent viewings of the movie made me appreciate it more.  Upon realizing this, I wrote to Mr. Ebert to take issue with a few of the comments he made in his review of the film.  Imagine my surprise the next day, when I got a personal response from Roger Ebert from his personal email address; and he actually agreed with me!  I thought that was a very classy thing for him to do.  At the time, I had no idea of the huge medical ordeals he was facing.  I read this article last night and it brought tears to my eyes. Roger Ebert is a class act. This is the story of a life well lived and it’s worth your time. 

February 16, 2010, 7:01 AM

Roger Ebert: The Essential Man

It has been nearly four years since Roger Ebert lost his lower jaw and his ability to speak. Now television’s most famous movie critic is rarely seen and never heard, but his words have never stopped.  Read more…

PLUS: Have You Seen All of the Essential Movies?

By Chris Jones

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It was a very busy weekend at The Hotel Careyfornia, filled with many of my blog’s namesakes, primarily dogs (4), kids (3), and sunsets (2).  Thankfully, there was little mention of Sarah Palin and her redneck teleprompter!  Friday, Seth and Hannah came by with Garbo & Ruby.  On Saturday, David & Rebecca came with the two girls and Chanel the dog (just like last Valentine’s Day, when I went to Gay Traffic School!).  Despite snow in 49 of the 50 United States, it was 75° (24° C) in L.A. and we hiked up to the “new” Hollywood sign.  It’s been covered by conservationists temporarily to prevent land development at one of the last untouched parts of Los Angeles. After a quick trip to Millions of Milkshakes, we headed to The Getty Center for sunset (it’s free after 5:00 on Saturdays!).   We capped the night off celebrating the Lunar New Year with delicious Thai food.  Sunday, Claudio, Ryan, Omar & Chazz came to dance the Valentine’s night away at Avalon.  Tonight, Tyson (who took time out of his busy TV appearance schedule), met me and Chazz for dinner at Hollywood & Highland.  I’m exhausted.  Is it the weekend yet??

  
A week of rare stormy weather was capped off by a beautiful sunny weekend full of friends, flowers and food (porn).  Picasa tells me I took 224 photos this week.  Here are a few of them:

I’ve been trying to get to Din Tai Fung with Lexi & Rita for over a year now, and we finally made it.  We ordered way too much, but the leftovers are always great!  I just wish it was closer!

And finally, it’s nice to know when your words inspire someone.  This was a great way to start the new year.  I’m glad I was able to help you Kevin.  Keep up the good work!

“It’s called smokism.  The systematic oppression of a minority, simply because they were born smokers.”  –Stephen Colbert.  Watch, and laugh at the absurdity.  (Click here for an equally funny bonus clip from 1999)