tara king

I rode the bus to Venice Beach and back today. It cost me $3.49 ($1.75 each way, minus the penny I found in the parking lot). It arrives every 10 minutes-ish, and gets you pretty much right to the beach in under an hour from where I live. Boom.

I love Venice Beach. Before I moved to a place with an ocean next to it, I imagined my beach time as a serene, isolated experience, which is not so much the Venice experience. I have to admit to myself: I really like the crazy humanity of Venice.

I'm stuck, right now. I'm not sure what to write about and in some ways, that's the beauty of this particular experiment. I have always been of the "keep the pen/fingers moving" school of free writing, but I confess: When I've done that for too long without sharing, the writing gets really weird and boring. I get bored with myself. I spend a lot of time talking about my problems and then self-soothing--finding a way out of the terror and the sadness and the fear.

If you're not aware, I'm a pretty avid board gamer. Between Paul & I, we have a collection of about 130 board games, which seems like a lot until you hear about all the ones we've gotten rid of. I spent eleven hours today playing a ten-player board game, which was just....the best. I am a total board game hipster. I regret nothing, except for the fact that I'm not really going to explain any of the games I mention below.

Anyway.

I've been digging through my email backlog. I've gone from 1100+ emails in my personal inbox to 561 at present. Most of these emails are just things I didn't archive when I should have (thank you for letting me know my bank statement is available). Some of them are emails that should stop arriving (I know where to find my bank statements when I need them, thank you) and some of them are legit emails that I have been ignoring.

Here is a first draft on How Google Chooses Things, aka Become more popular and beloved by robots.

"Why don't I rank higher for ______?"

This is a complicated question. Buckle in for a mini-essay.

It's been a long and winding road, but here we are. This box used to talk about fortune cookies, but I've grown. I've had two jobs since then. I remember writing that at my old day job, during a quiet moment in the day. So, it was at least 4 years old. I grew attached to that fortune cookie summary. People complimented it.

Updating my LinkedIn summary once every four years has not been terribly successful. As new information pours in about who I am, there's bound to be some changes as we go along. I'm assuming an update every single day will do.

Today I picked up four pieces of trash and felt like a basic goddam hero. Four whole pieces! Never mind the 45 or so I walked right past. Los Angeles has something of a litter problem. Twelve-year-old me is jumping up and down with my hand raised, absolutely convinced I can solve this with some community building and impassioned speech giving, but thirty-two-year-old me is in control of the meatsack and has bills to pay. Still, it didn't hurt to pick up a little trash.

A scene from an episode of Mad Men is stuck in my craw:

Hilton: I think you know I'm in a bit of a crisis tonight.
Draper: I didn't know that.
Hilton: I think about my business day and night. And I'm a harsh critic, especially of myself. And sometimes it collects, and I feel bad. And then I realize maybe that's the reason I'm so lonesome.
Draper: You might be working too much.
Hilton: I'm not working enough.

Hernán Cortés brought both chocolate and vanilla to the Old World, and let me say it up front: Vanilla wins.

The first time I truly loved vanilla was when I was 9 years old, on vacation in Mexico, where I probably got ice cream made with Mexican vanilla, which is so far still my favorite. I have no recollections of any other food from that entire trip, but that ice cream has lingered for over 20 years.

Earlier today I wanted to write about how grateful I am. Mostly as a tonic for the anxiety that surrounds my business life right now--I'm writing a business plan. I saw a woman sitting in her car when I went into the grocery store, and when I came back, she had tipped the seat back and was sleeping. For all I know she was waiting for someone, killing time, whatever, but I was flooded with gratitude at all this SPACE in my apartment, even if it is expensive and I have to keep it clean. I felt the seat of my own car and thought, "You know, even if it did get worse, I'd be alright.