Just a Small Town Girl?

San Francisco isn’t the only place outside of Southern California that I’ve lived. For about nine months at the turn of the century I lived in Ashland, Oregon. I was a college freshman, convinced that I knew everything about the world. I spent my days in the dorms, surrounding myself with young women who will forever be a part of me. Most of whom have faded from my life; only a handful am I even in contact with through social media.

I cherish those days. Even then I knew that they were fleeting.

Long story short, I got in a car accident, I moved home, I met some people who are still monumental parts of my being.

I don’t know who I would have been had I stayed there, but that’s okay. My life has never been about the ordinary and I don’t regret for a minute the path that I’ve taken.

But that’s not what this is about. This is about Ashland.

I am very fortunate in that my dad lives in this town. I discovered the school through him and have  the opportunity to visit the town that I briefly knew as home. However while I’ve visited a handful of times over the past ten years there was something unique about my visit this month. Since leaving college, this was the first time that I’ve come up in my own car.

My memories of Ashland exist like a slideshow, snapshots of images that stir something inside of me. There are the railroad tracks I drove over my first evening there, a moment that forever created a connection between myself and the girl next door. There’s the movie theatre that I remember standing outside of, waiting to get in to see Scream 3. There’s the Food 4 Less just up the freeway where we got Backstreet Boy necklaces out of a toy machine. 

I refuse to believe that we weren't
the coolest girls on campus

I went off on my own this trip, leaving behind my family while I just wandered through the town. I walked through the park, always one of my favorite parts of Ashland. I looked at the stages for the Shakespeare festival and wondered why I didn’t take advantage of the theatre when I lived in town. Isn’t that why I went there in the first place? I walked by the Starbucks where I used to get hot caramel ciders, browsed through my old favorite stores, and grabbed lunch at a small café I remember loving. I even drank Lithia Water, spring water that was legendary at the college. Older students told us that it tasted like blood. Only the bravest freshman came close. At eighteen I wasn’t very brave.

I like to think San Francisco toughened me up

It’s not like going back to Orange County. Orange County is huge, and I stumble across memories without even trying. I lived there since I was an infant, moving from city to city. I grew up in a wealthy beach community and last year was in an area known to locals as Garbage Grove. I had friends all over, and to this day accidently find places that were since forgotten to me. 

I went here as a child and never forgot it.
Two or so years ago, I accidentally drove by it on my way home from work. 

But Ashland is little and I spent the bulk of my time on campus. The memories are all of a girl that I once was, someone who had her entire life in front of her.

I love the big city. I love the adventures. I love that eight months in and I feel like I barely know San Francisco. I love the crowds, the diversity, and that I can hop on a train and find something new to explore. But if I ever went back to small town life, Ashland would be the place. 

I Remember Everything

Brenda, all the way

I'm a lover of teen television. Hell my first full length graduate school paper was on the topic. As other enthusiasts of the genre know there are some big questions that get debated to this day. Brenda or Kelly? Will Rayanne ever stay sober? How many Hellmouths are there? And of course, at the end of the day who should Joey Potter be with?

Childhood soulmate Dawson or Class Clown Pacey?

The moment that caused me to throw a chair because I couldn't wait three weeks for the next episode.
Ah, college Maile.

Joey and Pacey quickly became one of my all time favorite television relationships. The seeds were planted in season one with a brief flirtation. Of course we weren't supposed to root for these two blue collar kids. Joey belonged with her oblivious friend Dawson. She sang a song for him, damnit! The blond haired hussy (academy award nominee Michelle Williams) didn't deserve him. Feisty Joey was his dream girl. He just didn't know it. 

Fun fact, if you google "Dawson and Joey"
you get more pictures of Joey and Pacey kissing.

And then season one ended. Dawson and Joey got together. Now what?

As anyone who has ever watched tv can imagine, the couple broke up before season two was over. Joey wanted more out of life to be Dawson's girlfriend, then she dated a homosexual and then he came out and right when things were about to work out between our main couple, Dawson ruined Joey's relationship with her convict father causing Joey to say that she'd never forgive Dawson. 

When season three opens Dawson asks his best friend Pacey to keep an eye on Joey. Despite brief moments of true friendship, Joey and Pacey have always had a bit of an antagonistic relationship. He tells jokes, she takes life too seriously. His family is in law, her family is in trouble with the law. He's a slacker, she's driven. But both of their hearts are broken. 

Enough foreshadowing for the entire audience.

Throughout the season they spend more and more time together. He considers a friends with benefits relationship with the aforementioned blonde hussy. She dates some other guy. He watches her sleep. He talks with his brother about feeling butterflies. He falls in love. Joey remains oblivious. 

And then he kisses her. And the WB doesn't air another episode for three weeks. After the commercials all showed that he would kiss her. 

Yes, I'm still bitter. I threw a chair in anger. You don't recover from that. 

Season three ends with the two of them together, breaking the heart of Dawson as well as Pacey's ex girlfriend. They date through the entirety of season four, fighting and kissing constantly. They break up by the season's end and Joey predictably runs into Dawson's arms. I booed.

This afternoon I watched one of my favorite episodes of the series. Season six, Joey and Pacey are just friends and spend the night locked in K-Mart. It's essentially a bottle episode that shows why these two worked as a super couple. The two argue, laugh, eat, and end the episode kissing. It's brilliant. 

Yeah, chemistry

But ten years later I can see that I didn't love these characters because of great writing (though the build up to their relationship was fantastic). It's not the amazing acting or complex characterization. It's chemistry. Pure, natural, intense chemistry. Joshua Jackson and Katie Holmes dated for a time, and it shows in their performance. I can believe that these two love to be together and as a viewer, I want to watch them together.

These two lit up the television together. They remain my favorite characters and pairing from the show. Michelle Williams may have been the talent, and I've recently become obsessed with James Van Der Beek (Don't Trust the B in Apartment 23, watch it) but neither of them were the reason that I became obsessed with this show. Neither of them are characters that I fell in love with, and a teenage couple that I still get giddy over. 

Joey and Pacey made television magic, and I will always consider them among the great television couples.

How can you resist?

Thanks for the Memories

Like all parents, my mother is a product of her time. For some this includes conservative values and black and white television. For mine it's rock 'n roll. For many years I was the one with abnormal taste. My mom would want to listen to the radio while I'd only want to blast my showtunes.

Let's get real. I'd still rather blast my showtunes.

I'm not sure if KLOS was always her favorite station, but it's the only one that I remember listening to. As I grew older and my car no longer had a place to blast my beloved Broadway it became my own station of choice. My memories of my mother aren't limited to music. I have memories connected to morning radio and listening about two wacky hosts talking about Elvis.

Mark and Brian.

I didn't listen to them much as I got older. Not because I disliked them or my mother. It's that other thing I disliked.

Mornings.

So not a morning person.

But when I was awake, when I was driving for whatever reason, 95.5 was on the dial.

I just found out that today was their last show. After twenty five years, after being on the radio as long as I can remember, they said goodbye. So from the Bay Area, before I've had a chance to listen to the online show, I just have to say thank you.

Thank you for the laughter. Thank you for letting us into your crazy lives. Hell, thank you for talking about football so much that I chose to follow two amazing teams last season.

If I hadn't moved, would I be listening to the show this morning? Would I have dragged my lazy self out of bed so that I could say goodbye?

I'd like to think so.

Mark, California will miss you. Brian, I look forward to your podcast.

Friendship IS Magic

I love cartoons. They appeal to my optimistic self and the child within. But, like many adults, I talk about how the kids today don't know good stories. How the movies may be amazing, but animated television is lacking. I come from the era of Saturday morning cartoons. I'm a child of the 80's. For many years I have embraced this fact and love the culture of my youth. For example as we speak I'm wearing Care Bear pajamas.

This very image is on my chest

Another thing that many of my close friends know is that I loath remakes of my childhood. I curse at the new Care Bears, the aging of Strawberry Shortcake still annoys me, and don't get me started on the new Smurfs movie. 

I don't know who this guy is.
Seriously, who are you Fakey Smurf?

You can imagine my trepidation when the new My Little Pony series came out. They'd already tried and failed to remake the series years ago. And I love the original movie. The songs can run in my head at any moment. Even now I have vivid memories of discussing the ponies with my cousin and playing with the many different toys.

But the Internet at large became obsessed with the new series. They developed a term. Brony. And the entire series to date is on Netflix. The ponies didn't look quite right, but what the hay. I had some free time, and we needed a break from the Jem/Robotech marathon. 

Bring it on, little ponies!!

The theme song showed promise. It starts with classic My Little Pony music, then quickly shows a voice all its own. I watched the first few episodes. Then the next few. And somewhere along the line, I became hooked. I've since watched the entire series more than once. I've read the tvtropes on the series. I've watched fan made music videos (Enter Sandman was awesome!). I own a Fluttershy t-shirt. 

So I have to wonder, how did this happen? Why did My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic win me over?

First, let me get this out of the way, it is a quality program. The characters are well defined. Each member of the main six (or mane six as the fans call them) is a strong yet flawed character. They're relatable. I not only identify with our socially awkward bookworm heroine (the hilariously named Twilight Sparkle), but most of her new friends. These are well written characters that any girl can look up to, and perhaps more importantly, the female characters are not defined by the men in their lives. These little ponies show that girls can be caring, strong, and independent, quite like Merida from Brave. Even a casual fan can tell you the basic personalities of each pony. I can tell you more about these ponies than any of the ponies from my youth. 

But this show is more than well written characters and strong female ponies. It's also clever. There are the little gags, such as Twilight Sparkle literally standing on a soap box when giving a speech. There are the callbacks, throw away lines that reference previous episodes. The show has continuity! There are the pop culture references, like the Diamond Dogs or the Benny Hillesque chase scenes. Then there's the music. 

The season one finale features a song that is heavily inspired by Ever After from Into the Woods. An original song based on Stephen Sondheim. In a children's cartoon. Not a rewritten version of Ever After. Just inspired by. The song is all about how excited the little ponies are for their big night at the gala. A gala that was first mentioned in the third episode of the series. Continuity! Please note the 20 person choir singing in the chorus. 

It's heartwarming and sincere, with just enough cynicism for the adult viewers. It has an expanded universe involving the background characters. The writers listen to the fans, and show creator Lauren Faust answers questions regularly. (Her resume includes writing for Powerpuff Girls and the new DC short Super Best Friends Forever, very into girl power animation). The show pays tribute to the original series. Faust based the characters on the personalities that she gave to her own toys. The show is written for children while still appealing to adults. It does what some of the great cartoons of our time have done. 

This isn't like my generations My Little Pony. This is better.

It might not be your thing. That's cool. But all I can say is don't knock it till you try it. If you enjoy quality western animation, strong female characters, and smiling, then this series is for you. 

I've been quiet. Too quiet...

I know, where have I been. You've all been at the edge of your seats wondering how I'm really adjusting to The City. Damnit, my witty Facebook updates just aren't detailed enough.

It's been over six months since we made the big move. And, let's just get this out of the way, I freaking love it up here. I love that we can just make the decision to leave the house and BAM! adventure. I love our quiet corner of the city, and that our apartment has a view of the lush Lake Merced and the ocean. I love that it's so easy to find vegetarian items on menus. Oh the food. Vegetarian biscuits and gravy, grilled tofu burrito, sourdough grilled cheese, balsamic strawberry ice cream,  vegan donuts, gourmet cupcakes...

Best. Cupcakes. Ever.
So I'm happy. Still kind of lonely, but happy. Where does that leave my poor neglected blog? For months I've been flirting with starting a pop culture blog. As many of you know, I love tv. And some books.

I just spent the past month reading about the Wakefield twins as adults.  My taste is impeccable.
But Maile, what about the food? The vegetarian biscuits and gravy? The grilled tofu burrito? Maile, what about the cupcakes???

Well my friends, my indecision has lead to the best of both worlds. Kitty in the City is branching out! I'll write about the city. The food. The stores. I'll write about pop culture, torturing you all with my geeky thoughts. (LOST rewatch 2012, it's on!) And maybe I'll even share a bit of myself, continuing to let you know about my struggles, my insecurities, and my fears.

So friends, you in?

The reality of my new life

Living in San Francisco isn’t what I imagined. No, I’m not talking about my superficial belief that I’d have a thriving nightlife, or that new friends would be banging on my door. I’m talking about little things. The details that never fit with the image in my head.

I have a new job. I was supposed to work in Union Square, surrounded by tourists, shoppers, high buildings, and bright lights. I’d take Muni to and from work, and my car would sit forgotten at home. A big city restaurant for a big city girl. But I got here and things changed. I changed. I could list 101 reasons why I revised my previous stance about working in a restaurant, but none of those matter. In truth I don’t understand why people are so amazed that I left the restaurant industry. Did anyone truly believe that was my dream?

I regularly said "would you like fries with that?"

I’m getting side tracked. Sorry, pet peeve. Besides, I was always secretly hoping for something new.

I work for a company that challenges me constantly. A place where I am surrounded by creative and intelligent innovators. I have learned so much in my short time here, and my knowledge continues to grow. I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole, and have had to just let go and enjoy the ride. At times my inner stage manager tries to make sense of the chaos, but I’ve discovered how to embrace the insanity. How to thrive within the madness.

I don’t work in Union Square. I don’t work in a tall building, surrounded by bright lights. I work in The Haight, a district that I instantly grew to love. I’m surrounded by Victorian homes, hippies, and sunshine. I drive to work, parking next to Buena Vista Park, and spend my short walk to work reveling in my surroundings. Street musicians say hello, while other people lounge on the grass.

There’s something else that has surprised me though. Another detail of the city that I didn’t anticipate. The nature. It’s so green up here. Green and lush and beautiful. I knew that it was green up here; I’ve commented on it in the past. But it’s not just that it’s green, it’s that you can find nature everywhere. There’s Golden Gate Park. I drive past it almost daily, though I’ve yet to explore it at length. It’s about 1.5 square miles, and has everything from tea gardens, to windmills, to buffalo. There’s Buena Vista Park; I’m convinced that park is magical. Maybe it’s the energy of flower children past. All I know is that it compels me to explore further. To go within the tress, and find the fae folk living within.

And then there’s my backyard. Lake Merced. When I was a little girl, our house was next to Back Bay. I loved to wander the greenbelt, letting my imagination go wild. Walking around Lake Merced, I get that same feeling. Well, an adult version of it. A feeling of tranquility. A desire for adventure. The realization that I can conquer the world. The self-esteem of my youth, before it was destroyed by bullies, rejection, and self-doubt. This isn’t a place to walk with a purpose. It’s a place for me to get lost in myself, and remember my inner power.
My backyard!
In essence, that’s what San Francisco has become. I imagined a big city life. Instead what I found is a place where the grass grows green, people say hi on the street, and I can let go of expectations and just be me.

I found my new home.

Home again, home again.

When I was eighteen, I wrote a short story that focused on one simple theme. You can never go home again. At thirty, I found myself contemplating that story as I took BART to the airport.


I made friends on the flight!

Last weekend was my first trip back to Orange County. I spent the bulk of the time with family, normal moments that wouldn’t have been out of place five months ago. We ate matzo ball soup, laughed at corny jokes, and told embarrassing stories of years past.* I saw some of my dearest friends, and we chatted as though I still lived below the LA county line.

It was the little moments that were strange. My mom moved soon after I did, so I was staying in unfamiliar places. I was sitting in LAX, an airport I grew up at, and having the thought I’m going home. It was startling, the realization that Orange County isn’t my home, that lives moved on without me, and the void that I left was not irreplaceable. Sure my family cannot replace me with another daughter/niece/cousin. But I probably talk with then more now than I did then. Even in my crazy busy moments,** I’m always an email or a facebook message away.

There were two unexpected moments that were perfect for a surprise trip home. I told very few people outside of my family that I was heading down, because I simply knew that I wouldn’t have time to see everyone. But on Saturday morning, I made a pit stop at my old restaurant. I was there for about ten minutes, but I was able to see so many of my old friends. We exchanged hugs, and I remembered how close we all once were. I miss them, and I’m glad that I didn’t try to replicate them up here. I’m glad that my life is so different. Next time I’ll spend more time with them.

Next time. Who knows when that will be?


The other moment was on Sunday evening, Easter. I was meeting some friends, and, in typical Maile fashion, I was running early. Feeling nostalgic, I decided to stop at my old theatre bar for a drink. I went in, and it was virtually empty. Easter Sunday, and all. I grabbed a quick drink, and chatted with the bartender, sounding like one of those old crazy people. ”I moved out of the area, and I used to come here all the time when you were in your old location. I had to stop by.” She humored me, and cocktail finished, I left the bar, prepared to update my facebook with a snarky update about how the bar was empty. And as I’m getting in my car, BAM, I see someone I know. A handful of former theatre colleagues appeared, and I agreed to stay for another drink. We chatted about shows, and my new life. Like with the restaurant, I had this overwhelming sense of community. Of a world that once upon a time, I was an important part of.

My life has changed. I’m still getting to know my new coworkers. My local friends are scattered about, not close enough for an impromptu day at the park. My life is so hectic, I’m not sure if I’d be up for such unpredictability. But one day, I’d like to have that sense of community again.

Can you ever go home again? In my admittedly limited experience, I think it’s less about going home, and more about realizing that you have a new home. That the place with the memories is a part of you, but it’s not who you are anymore.

*No, I will not repeat said stories.
**I’ve been doing homework since I came home