There's so much I could tell you.

But instead I'm going to tell you only this:

You are extremely sad that you don't live here and therefor can't eat this ice cream.

It's like summer in your mouth. Or a shandy. Seriously. Come visit, you will not be sorry.

Called out.

I keep getting called out by Jenny, and it's starting to be embarrassing. How long since I posted anything? Ummmm..... What can I say? I have nothing to write about! Okay, not exactly true, but most things get shared on Facebook or by email or in hours-long phone calls or via Twitter (gasp!) or the couch for Fancy Lady Writing Group (whenever any pieces actually get finished, which for me, I am loathe to admit, is rare). I feel as though I have nothing to report. Apparently, nobody from the old bloggin' crowd has much of anything to report. We have ceased amusing each other in the interworlds. Updates about children and angst and developments and whatnots have slowed to a crawl. I suppose everyone is busy living their lives instead of chronicling them. It's fine. I mean, it is what it is, right?

Except, of course there is a lot going on! People are building businesses and moving to Hawaii and starting school and putting themselves out there and traveling and producing sweet babies and raising adorable and brilliant children and buying houses and having 50th wedding anniversaries, recovering from trauma, mourning their fathers and trying to figure out what they want to do when they grow up (or turn 60, whichever comes first), seeing estranged family members, ignoring estranged family members and I don't know, all kinds of stuff, good and bad. All that blessed good and terrible messiness of life. It's a weird time we live in and so much hopeful positive delicate weird change is swirling around mixed up with the terrifying and the fear and threats of destruction across the planet and the cosmos. "May you live in interesting times" says the proverb, and boy howdy do we ever. Arab spring, climate change, Palestine, space program, elections, economies, China, food systems, ocean of plastic, peak oil... I have to stop the list, it's making me palpitate.

With a nod to the dangers of ignoring the bad to our own detriment, I must say that these days I try to focus on the goodness, the possibility, the promise, rather than the worrisome fearful terrifying and uncontrollable things. Do your best. Work with what you have. Make good choices. Don't stress to the infinitesimal details of each decision. So much is outside our reaches anyway. What am I trying to say, here? I really don't know anymore, but I feel like a beer might help me figure it out.

Girl.

Etsy Makes Me Seethe With Envy.

Not material envy as much as creative envy, but seethe with it I do. Have you perused the site? It's the creative girls' wet dream, er, I meant to say a creative girl's Ebay, heh, yeah. It is also a bridal jackpot of crazy goodness, by the way (but that's a post for another time - and possibly another blog? I don't know, I'm still debating on that point, will keep you posted).

It, Etsy, is totally amazing. But it also makes me squirm with discomfort, as I spend far too many hours clicking next-next-next on the infinite returns to my search queries. I squirm because a) I have no money to spend on such non-essential things just now and b) it's not really the time, GlobalFinancialMeltdown-fully speaking, to be on the consumer kick (except it is, because that might help solve the whole insane crisis just a tiny bit, but then again see point a). On the other hand: it is supporting individuals in the economy; it is almost all art; it is helping to foster a more regional and/or alternative economy (in some cases more than others, I suppose, but especially here in Portland where a lot of the Saturday Market vendors have etsy pages) beyond the reach of the Walmart/Big Box/Trendoid culture that chewed us up and spit out in Roaring 90's/Insane Aughts. Still, I personally should not be augmenting my wardrobe (have fallen in total love with that crazy 18-in-one dress, oy! Am I nuts? I'm a little nutso, right?) at the moment, or fantasizing about all the lovely hand painted dishware I want to possess. Nor should I be spending all these hours imagining MAKING all the lovely handmade items I'm lusting after in the etsy coffers.

Because c) that is really what it comes down to. Not only to I want to own these things, but really I want to MAKE them. But with too many things on the old To Do list as well as the hey-that-would-be-fun project list (and far too many items uncrossed off of both, I might add) as well as the continually pushed back things-I-keep-meaning-to-get-to-like-buying-a-house-and-having-kids-and-stuff stuff, it would be insane to start yet another is-she-really-going-to-finish-it? project or fifty-three. However, since that's never stopped me before (and since I think we're pretty solid on the first-comes-love-then-comes-marriage-then-comes-baby-in-the-baby-carriage - who knew I'd wind up being so traditional? ha ha) please keep your eyes out for cheap plain white dishware for me, won't you? It's all part of the new kitchen in the new house that we will totally get around to buying one of these days soon.



On a semi-related note, I'm reading this vaguely self-helpish book by Barbara Sher called "Refuse to Choose" (yeah, yeah, don't judge, it's an awful name I know, and sadly the subtitle is even worse) that posits that some people (she calls them "Scanners" - I suspect someone could really use a verbiage coach to help polish her brilliant ideas, I'm just sayin') are naturally disinclined to choose a single focus, direction or profession. They are, instead, predisposed to fits and spurts of creative energy, ideation and inspiration, but are inhibited by an increasingly specializing and speciality focused society that requires a single focus or direction at one time and doesn't allow for much jumping around, and, well, blah blah blah and so forth (it's actually a good and useful book, I really am not intending to mock it - though I may just be saying that because it totally justifies my entire existence, but anyway...).

So there's an exercise in there that has the reader draw a floor plan/map of their home and then walk through it and write down every project (conceptual, finished, barely started, never past the supply-purchasing phase, all of it) and mark them down in each room where they sit/live/were conceived of/etc. And I must say: As an exercise? Totally. Effing. Fascinating. As a reality check? Honestly a little depressing, because man is that floor plan jam freaking packed. You would think by looking at it that the only things furnishing this place were unfinished craft projects, stacks of scribbled on paper under strange art materials, undulled tools, and dusty instruments.

Of course any and all creative/crafty/planning energy these days is all being siphoned off into the tubular world of Wedding Planning (duh dun duuuuuuuum!). And work stuff, client web sites and marketing writing and project planning, of course. Of course? Um, yeah, not really. It's all about the wedding "art and vision" right now, I'm sad to admit - seriously, I'm *that* girl all of a sudden. Example: Mark and Jess brought the kids over in their costumes tonight and caught me watching videoed photo montages from random weddings. Complete with heartstring-tugging background music. In the dark. Oy. At least it's all internet these days, no trees were harmed in the making of this bridal porn!

And that leads me back to the oh-so-many wedding related things to discuss. Venues. Kilts. Girls, I have some ideas about your ensembles. So, probably going to create a moment-in-time blog for the discussions of all that biz. Not sure I can stomach it living here. We'll see.

It's all good, nothing need be decided now. The only thing I need to worry about now is my addiction to all things Etsy, DIY and bridalscape smut-y.

Dear Small World of Mine - A Treat for You.

Hurry up and go to this website and watch this video before the woman responsible for it yanks it and puts up something else.

Bite My Cookie.
http://bite-my-cookie.blogspot.com/

BMC, whose web site you'll visit by clicking above, is one of my favorite ladies in Portland. She is fierce, a firecracker, a connector, a scrape-the-lining-of-her-insides-out-for-you-if-you-need-it, a ball of energy and chaos and giant-hearted snark. She's funnier than sin. She has the most adorable family (this is heresay, or blogsay, I guess, as I've not actually met them yet) and a neverendingstory of stories to tell that will make you cry with hysteria. Also, she makes the best cookies in all the land. Hopefully she's going to have a rad website selling these cookies in the next week or two (if someone you know and love can get her ess-aytch-eye-tea together ay-ess- ay-pee).

In the meantime, she's just had the ultimate crapperfull of a hellish experience in business wherein all of her talent and energy and huge vats of effort got swallowed up by The Man (in the collective patriarchal sense, as well as in the penis-bearing-personage pissing absurdities on a years worth of bloodsweatmoneytears sort of way). I think she's trying to sit still for a moment, water the roots at the base of the pruned bush, so to speak, gather her strength for the next thing. But in the meantime, she offers periodic treats on her site, but just like the incredible cookies she bakes, you've gotta run and get em while they're hot. I can't guarantee that what you'll see when you click above will be the video to which I am directing you, but hey, don't shoot the messenger.

So go, run, click, do it. BMC recently took down her archives, which were time-suckingly entertaining (and which I used to read long before I met her at work by happenstance one day, long before I realized that she was BFFs with an LA blogger, Rebecca Wolf, long linked on this site that I'd been reading for months and months.) Anyway, you unfortunately will not have the honor of experiencing those BMC, days-gone-by, belly-laughing posts, but please, please please go watch her darling 4 year old give a life lesson about what it means to be four. It is beyond precious, absolutely sums up four years old - and the important bits of life in a nutshell, really - in under a minute and a half.

Ps - I got two hours of sleep last night, due to an early morning airport run for Le Mama and some damn inconvenient insomnia involving a terribly unnecessary late night fixation on h'ors d'oeuvres (because I am retarded) for this weekend's shower-to-end-all-showers for our darling Joj, so please forgive if this entire post makes no sense, which I suspect it may not, but am too wiggy to double check. Bottom line, go watch the vid - I can't imagine you'll be sorry.

100 Things to Consume Before You Die.

This list is the 100 things that Very Good Taste thinks everyone should eat at least once in their life.

Instructions were:

1) Bold all the items you’ve eaten. (Except bold white doesn't really look very bold, so I've made them red, unless they are blue, which indicate active links to explanations, some of which are DIS-gusting... you have been warned).
2) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
3) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

1. Venison - mmm, had some of this fried up in Crisco at Jojo's aunt and uncle's house in a remote part of Oregon in the summer between Junior and Senior year of high school. Right before I stepped on a nail and punctured the arch of my foot through my cheap ass Payless ankle boots (which are totally popular again, strangely enough).
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros - what Californian hasn't eaten these? Maybe one's who don't like eggs or beans. Maybe.
4. Steak tartare - tempted to cross this out. Not a big fan of beef, so raw beef? Hmmmm, no. But I suppose I could try a tiny bite in the interest of culinary adventure.
5. Crocodile
6. Black Pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp - Jessica, look away.
9. Borscht - I could live on this for a few weeks. The food of my people. With sour cream. Delicious.
10. Baba ghanoush - mmmmm.
11. Calamari - in many many many preparations. Tentacles and all.
12. Pho - not so much of the beef stomach-y varieties, but some really good rich brothy goodness sans intestines.
13. PB&J sandwich - I think it's weird that this is on here. But that's cool.
14. Aloo gobi - yes, ma'am, veddy veddy good, ma'am. (that is not racist, shut up).
15. Hot dog from a street cart - Before reading "The Jungle" in 11th Grade, yes. Now, hot dogs in general? Not so much.
16. Epoisses - many a runny stinky cheese have I eaten, and from the description, I'm sure that I've ingested this one. The color was particularly disconcerting, knowing that something bacterial in nature came up with the exceptional shade of orangey pinkishness on the rind.
17. Black truffle - but of course.
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes - True story: Went to Korean food the other night with niece Heather and her BFF Spencer (before their shitty car wreck in Crescent City) and among the varieties of wine was Blackberry, Pomegranate and Wild Mountain Berry. I was very excited about all (Korean wine? Fruit flavors? Whaaa?) and settled on the Wild Mountain Berry, because, well, I don't really know. It sounded exotic and wild. Out comes the bottle on which appears the words "Wild Grapes" along with a picture of grapes similar to the one on a bottle of Manischewitz. And guess what the wine tasted like? Yes, it tasted like Passover. But I've had some fabulous elderberry wine in Scotland, so I can at least check this off of this very strange list.
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries - are you kidding me? My favorite summer activity in this lovely new state of mine.
23. Foie gras - don't judge. It was in the very foodie San Francisco 90's. If there were protesters then, I didn't notice them. And by the way? It's totally delicious.
24. Rice and beans - More than is necessary, I'm sure.
25. Brawn or head cheese - I wish I could say that I'd not tried this, but since I'm sort of a try-everything-once kind of gal, I have indeed had the displeasure. No likey.
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper - does smelling one count?
27. Dulce de leche - yummo.
28. Oysters - smoked, fried, raw, stewed in seafoody concoctions, scrambled in an omelet, but in general I am very ambivalent about them.
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda - not to my knowledge. A mix of anchovies, garlic, walnut oil, cream? Into which you dip roasted veggies and whatnot, similar to a fondue. I think I would remember that. Sounds good. And yet not at the same time.
31. Wasabi peas - why is this on here?
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl - more times in more places than I can possibly count. Probably never again, however, considering the wheat content of both sourdough and most variations of chowder. Wah.
33. Salted lassi — Does a mango lassi count?
34. Sauerkraut - not a big fan.
35. Root beer float - best sleepover dessert next to a sundae bar. Also, a bunch of local breweries here craft their own rooty brews, and damn if they aren't f-i-i-i-n-e.
36. Cognac with a fat cigar - I suppose separately doesn't count? Together sounds wretched.
37. Clotted cream tea - thanks, Britain.
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O shot - Yes.... (shudder)
39. Gumbo - awwww hawwww, sho' have.
40. Oxtail — Oxtail soup count? Then yes. Thank you, Scotland.
41. Curried goat - better than you'd think.
42. Whole insects - not on purpose! Actually I did once eat chocolate covered ants. I guess that counts.
43. Phaal - sounds dangerous to eat curry that hot, but what do I know.
44. Goat’s milk - unfortunately (thanks, 1979, thanks Mrs. Gooches). It is not an exaggeration to say that it tastes (or used to taste) like goats smell. Which is to say: unpleasant.
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more - awwww yeah, and I highly recommend it.
46. Fugu - blowfish. Have not yet intentionally tempted death while eating. Clearly something to consider.
47. Chicken tikka masala - yes, and I love it and I must give credit where credit is due, which I think belongs to Tisa Read for ordering this one during our Indian Food/Watching "Friends" nights back in Berkeley.
48. Eel - surprisingly delicious and quite un-slithery.
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut - overrated.
50. Sea urchin - not really a fan, I must say.
51. Prickly pear - besides the one I grabbed off a cactus while drunk (it looked smooth in the dark) and the sliver from the bottom of a fermenty drink, I've not actually had much experience with these.
52. Umeboshi - not sure if it counts, but I did eat one of this that was sitting at the bottom of a bottle of fermented plum sake. And it was rad.
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald's Big Mac meal - I can't f*cking believe this is on here. Even worse? I now have "Two all beef patties special sauce lettuce cheese" in my head. Wah. And yes, I ate many of these in the dog days of my mother's returning to school when I was a child and having to spend a lot of time in the car driving all over the valley for various errands and crap. I'm sure there are still pieces of Mickey D's beef lining my colon. Though now that I think about it, I was more partial to Fish Filets. Good times.
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV - I am not a super beer lover, but living in a town nicknamed "Beervana," consuming things in this category happens on a pretty regular basis.
59. Poutine - this cheese curd and gravy covered french fry dish sounds totally horrifying, but I'm assured it is delish. I'm sure.
60. Carob chips - raised on these babies. Don't knock it till you try it. And no, it's not anything like chocolate, no matter how many times yer mom tries to tell you that it is. But it's still tasty.
61. S’mores - oh, god, how I miss these. Someone needs to make a gluten-free graham cracker.
62. Sweetbreads - sadly, yes, at some fancy restaurant in SF years ago. Eh. Don't really understand why this is a thing.
63. Kaolin - edible clay, huh? Pass. I suppose I'd try it if magically appeared in front of me, but wouldn't go out of my way to procure such things.
64. Currywurst - um, urban dictionary has a lovely definition of this, which I suggest you not click on if you have a weak constitution. "Cheap and unhygenic whore" I can live with, but the rest of the explication is disgusting. In food terms it's a curry sausage of some variety and photos on Google do not make it look particularly appetizing.
65. Durian - our friends Alan and Hillary have sampled this and did underscore the foul smell, but said it tasted much better than you'd expect from something described as "vomit-scented" and specifically prohibited from being opened in many public places.
66. Frogs’ legs — tastes like chicken.
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake - all of the above, like the classy classy Carnie I've always longed to be.
68. Haggis - yep. Definitely liked the vegetarian version better than the real thing, but honestly you mix enough grains and herbs and spices into pretty much anything (heart, lungs and stomach included) and it'll start to taste kinda good.
69. Fried plantain - so so so good. Especially with black beans and rice and grilled prawns or Caribbean fish stew. Especially in Amsterdam and Berkeley.
70. Chitterlings - uh, pass.
71. Gazpacho -
72. Caviar and blini - thanks to that post-college catering stint, a wealth of adventure in up-and-coming culinary and asshole arts.
73. Louche absinthe - who hasn't, now that it's back in the U.S.S.A?
74. Gjetost - This cheese is awesome. Bex and I ate a bunch of it back in the Berkeley days. (Thank you, Andronicos, and maybe Winter for having Norwegian friends and knowing about it?). It's like a slightly sweet, slightly carmel-y cheese. Very very good.
75. Roadkill - I'm not going to be unhappy if I leave the planet without having knowingly eaten roadkill. If you have a few minutes, watch this lovely Top Gear excerpt on the topic of eating roadkill in America. Love it.
76. Baijiu - pretty sure this is the rice wine we drink at Korean restaurants. Sake is better, in my opinion.
77. Hostess Fruit Pie - I really wish I'd never had these, because just thinking about them I get that weird slick feeling on my tongue and the roof of my mouth that inevitably appeared immediately after swallowing. God.
78. Snail - lots of garlic, lots of butter, no slime quotient to speak of. Not bad.
79. Lapsang souchong - for those days you crave the exquisite and delicate nuance of burnt rubber tires.
80. Bellini - I can't for the life of me remember who introduced me to these. I'm thinking it was a Davis Girls event back in college. There should definitely be more Bellini drinking in life.
81. Tom yum - All the time. There's a fabulous little hole in the wall bar down the street from the office I frequent on Mondays and Tuesdays that has a terrific happy hour, including a giant bowl of Tom Yum or Tom Kha for $3 bux. Rad.
82. Eggs Benedict - Especially love it on a bed of spinach or a roasted tomato, or in the case of one seriously awesome hangover-curing-restaurant, on a risotto cake! Yes!
83. Pocky - excellent to serve at Asian themed parties, also good snack for the movies. You Venturan's can get them at Mama Ya's near Target, and in Portland don't bother going anywhere but the mega-mart of Asian ingrediants, Uwajamaya.
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant - shit. How about the tasting menu at 3 different 1-Michelen-star restaurants? In that case, done.
85. Kobe beef - does the Kobe beef burger at Rogue Brewery count? Yes? Okay, done. But I'm not a big beef fan, so it was likely lost on me.
86. Hare - if this is different than plain old rabbit, then no. If not, then I've been there/done that.
87. Goulash - AND paprikash.
88. Flowers - boatloads.
89. Horse - honestly I would have a hard time eating this one if I knew what it was there on the plate.
90. Criollo chocolate - well having read up on this single origin chocolate, I'm now quite exited to try it!
91. Spam - sad but true.
92. Soft shell crab - Easy peasy. And yet not at the same time.
93. Rose harissa - never heard of it, but feel as though I should have.
94. Catfish - Oh yeah.
95. Mole poblano - Ooooooh yeah. Friends of my mom, Tamis and Beto, once came for Thanksgiving when we were living in Ojai and Beto made Turkey mole with the leftovers and even though I could barely chew due to being super sick with a terrible ear infection that the ER doc thought was meningitis, I remember this mole with much fondness.
96. Bagel and lox - Are you kidding? What kind of Jew would I be if I hadn't yet had this one. Plus, I practically lived on bagels and lox in the early college/ free-leftovers-from-Coffee Bean days.
97. Lobster Thermidor - well this sounds totally disgusting, but maybe it's not. I'd certainly give it a shot.
98. Polenta - a staple in my house. A million variations, all terrific.
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee - Meh. Really didn't see what all the fuss was about.
100. Snake - I feel like I have tasted snake, but am at a loss to come up with where or when. So.... I guess not. I'll have to give it a go sometime. Maybe. Mmmabye not.

I'm sure there are million more items that could be added to this list (especially after I remove the ones I deem unworthy of holding a position). Why are oysters on here, for example, but not Mussels (with Frites)! I could probably rant about the omissions for a while, but I won't. Instead I'll end by saying that I will always accept more suggestions, so please pass them along at your leisure.

Fun With Analytics.

Did I mention that I have been writing 1000 words a day for the last month or so? I have. With moderate success (if by moderate you understand that the middle ground between super great and unbelievably horrible is just that).

Actually, I have been tremendously successful at the actual writing of 1000 or more words every day. I've only missed one night since I committed to the daily activity. Ass in chair, blah blah blah. This does not mean that I have been writing 1000 GOOD words or strings of words each day. But whatever, it's a start.

The very first day of writing these grand or so words, I wrote something to read at my writing group, about the process of committing to the page and all the shit that floats up for writers sitting down to write. Well, all the stuff that floats up for ME sitting down to write, anyway. Not surprisingly (because apparently we writers are nothing if not unoriginal in all the shit that floats up around the process, the act, the desire, the actuating, the ass-sitting, etc etc), it was some pretty familiar stuff for my fellow wordsmitheons: I got plenty of positive feedback, and a lot of head-nodding and amens around the table.

Afterward, a gal that I particularly like (the instigator of the nerdy ladies board game fun) grabbed my paper and a red pen and bracketed six or seven sentences or segments that she felt particularly stood out. Right on. When I got home and did the casual math, I was running about 10% good, stand out stuff, to the remaining 90% comme ci comme ca stuff. Honestly, I'm fine with that. And if 10,000 monkeys pounding on 10,000 keyboards will come up with Hamlet in 10,000 years (um, isn't that how that goes?) then surely one girl, at one keyboard, in 10,000 nights can come up with something usable in 10% of all that scattertyped text, right?

So here's the problem: Procastination. It's insane to me how very much I resist the task at hand. I can sit in this fercockt (probably not the correct yiddish spelling of this, my favorite Grandpa word) chair all night long, and read all y'alls blogs like 18 times over, ignoring my real-life to-do-lists and the blank page in front of me, read read read and catch up on CNN and Buzzflash, and write a few words, and head over to Facebook for some Scramble and some spying on my friends and family, and then tap out a few more words, and then go scare the crap out of myself with stuff about the environment and warming and the war and the conspiracies (oy fucking vey, the conspiracies of those that are conspiring and not yet geting caught, holy hell) and the sea of plastic in the Pacific and the damage done and doing and gonna do, and then go write a few more bits (in a decidedly lower tone) and then back all y'alls blogs, and then internet-stalk people like Julia Kernochan from Junior High (she's a Yale-educated lawyer on Senator Schumer's team, if you must know) and back to Buzzflash and on and on and on. (I can imagine one or more of you sitting there with your wee one in your lap as you try to read my overly long post here, in the few spare moments you have to catchup on web bizness, thinking that clearly I need a child in order to stop having infinite time to not focus on the thing that I sat down to accomplish, right? Right. Sorry.)

My ultimate point here, however, is not about my fierce and ridiculous need and ability to procrastinate, but rather to talk about my latest good time in the avoidance realm. Bex treated me to a lovely procrasty show of her own (oh Veronica, oh Logan, how I miss you so) and then I thought about how much I feel that her blog is written just for me (by the way, writers are apparently giant narcissists, so look out) and then I started thinking about what others might think in stopping by her site and then I thought "hey I wish there was a way to find out who was visiting a site, that would be funny" and then I immediately recovered my brain and remembered the miracle thing known as Google Analytics.

I signed up with the old Analytics tool back when I created this little vanity project. And I couldn't figure out if I'd inserted the tracking code correctly (it did not seem as though I had), got super annoyed and then gave up on the effort (shocking, I know). I've not logged in since that day. But hey man, what a perfect procrastination tool!

And indeed it was a sweet little surprise treasure trove of goodness. So much information! More than you could ever need/want/take in/make use of in a million years. But lots of helpful bits and bytes and bites. Here, my friends, is the tastiest morsel:

The top ten (er, eleven) searched keywords/phrases that have led people to This (Amberican) Life this week-

11) anna beth chao.
10) Important stuff to know in life.
9) I'm going to ride my bicycles and roller skates.
8) 3 month old drool.
7) momby porn. (that is not a typo. momBy porn. someone should really spellcheck their blog, am I right?)
6) Sun chips flying pig. (nice)
5) scurvy more tests and diagnosis. (wow, sorry dude, that sucks)
4) Chastity-belt. (hahahahahahaha)
3) sucktastic. (um, ha).
2) 1950's aprons.
1) momboob. *

God I loves me some interwebs, I really do.

And guess what? 947 words, suckers, yeah!

But now I need to wrap it up and go watch last week's BSG cause apparently the 5th Cylon is revealed and it's bugging me that I've gone this long without seeing it but Josh grabbed a crap copy and then he grabbed a super nice, super huge copy that wouldn't play on the computer we've got hooked up to the projector (have you heard the expression "the cobbler's wife wears no shoes?") and then the final copy was just right, but Sunday I babysat* and Monday I procrastinated too long into the evening to allow for viewing and now tonight I'm coming dangerously close to same. So au revoir, mon amies. I hope you enjoyed this last segment of rambling smack wherein I tried to up my word count to make up for all the numericals above, which really shouldn't count toward the sum word total, don't you agree?

1097 give or take.

It counts.

*As it's related to the otherwise baffling search term "momboob" and the aforementioned babysitting, this might be a convenient time to tell you about a mortifying thing that happened while babysitting the wee Watsons on Sunday. Except I just wrote it and it's a million miles long, so I'll make it a separate post, backdated, and thus appearing below. Enjoy.

Suspicious.

I stumbled upon the following blog and was VERY suspicious that it might have something to do with a dear friend of mine. Having investigated further, I see now that it is likely just a giant coincidence and does not relate directly to her dear cat-loving, legal-geeking self. But for those of you in the know, how could I NOT think that an ASU Law Blog with Ross in the name and featuring something called "Law Cat of the Week" showcasing the cats of ASU law students was somehow related to our dear Bex?

This will only interest you law geeks - one in particular - so move along if your name doesn't start with an R and rhyme with Hecka:

Ross Blakley Law Library Blog.

(Oh, no, no, it's my pleasure, you are truly very welcome, my dear).

And while we are on the subject, congratulations times ten billion on completion of your first year of school, Honeypie. I am infinitely excited for you, even more so by the fact that you are now free to talk on the phone for five hours in a sitting again.

On a related note: I'm pleased to report that I now know how to pee without any splashing sounds echoing in the phone. Totally. Awesome.

Happy Saint Joseph's Day.

Once again, I have been completely spoiled, like the bratty brat brat that I always knew I could be. I will post braggarty photos of my bounty, fun and fortune tomorrow.

All in all, it was an awesome birthday - mellow, and sweet and full of good friends, good phone calls, good humor, good food, good times... good life.

Thanks for all the cards, phone calls, emails, presents and love. Feels like a million bucks. (Better actually, cause it can't all be hosed away by non-tangibles like the roller coaster stock market and bad mortgages!).

Ignore Travolta and his "Hair" - Watch the Rest.

You probably saw this on Sunday. But I think it's worth seeing again. And again. Hence I'm putting it on my blog so I will watch it again. And again. And probably a few more agains after that.



The only thing missing from this, is after Glen speaks, Jon Stewart says something to the effect of "God that guy is so arrogant!" Nyaw, love you Mr. Leibowitz.

My screenwriting professor is IN LOVE with the movie Once. Juno too. Can't get enough. He joked that if Once had been made in Hollywood, they would have lived happily ever after immediately, and it would have been called Forever. (Side note: Read further down in his blog, he's kvelling about three excellent finished scripts. None of those are mine. Here, though, where he's talking about one-on-one emails with the slower of the bunch? Totally me. Sigh.)

It's a great class - very straightforward, very practical, and I love how simple storytelling is when it's all about what happens next. Let the actors detail the emotional layers, let the director "describe" the expressions, the scenery, heighten the drama, let the art director flesh out the pretties and the uglies, alls I gots to do is say who and where, make them say interesting multi-dimensional things, and move it the hell along with some punch. Sweet, dude. So different than fiction. Freeing, and yet informative for all formats, really: Because of this class, I might finally be able to tell an anecdote in proper order, without accidentally blowing all the tension and interesting bits at the beginning. Well worth the exorbitant tuition, I think.

Important Stuff To Know About Stuff That Like Fills Your Closets And Stuff.

El Jefe Goldstein recommended this video to me a while back. It's simple, and probably preaching to the choir with all of y'all in this audience, but still important stuff I think. Well done, anyway - everything is clear, concise and woven together thoughtfully.

THE STORY OF STUFF


So maybe you can pass it on to your non-Hippie, heads-in-the-sand consumer "I want/I need/Gimme" family members and friends. But in a less judgey tone than I seem to be able to muster.

Two unrelated things of great importance to share with you immediately because they are so dang important.

First:

Why did this not exist when I was a Lollapalooza/Lillith Fair/outdoor all day concert goer???

Feh. How much could I have saved in a) Money spent on expensive-ass water, b) Time on quests to get ungettable booze and c) Tissues used to ferret out all the black crusty boogers created by dusty outdoor concert locations mixed with total and utter dehydration? I remember being SO PISSED when I had to toss out the water I brought to Lollapalooza (1994? is that right? Jesus, whatever) and then having to fork over $3 or $4 for a tiny bottle of lukewarm spitwater. Had I had this lovely water jug contraption to wrap around my own jugs, I would have been stoked! I also would have looked like a Russ Meyer movie, even more than I already might have with a perky high-school-breast-worthy D bra, but it would have been worth it.

Second:

Bex's friend and former co-worker, GPP (who I had the pleasure of re-meeting and dining with a few weeks ago in Portland when much of Peachpit showed up for Karen's wedding) made an excellent point on his blog about the direction of media technology that Apple seems to be pushing for/reinforcing with the release of the envelope laptop (as I've taken to calling it). I'm sure others have been talking about this, but since I'm living in a house that Linux built, the only Mac news I get is from one half of the Watsons, or from Bex. Anyway, so it's interesting to me that part of the Mac push basically takes for granted that media will continue the march toward file formats and away from discs, CD, DVD, whatever. I don't know how I feel about that. I don't miss floppy discs either, or VHS tapes. I kind of feel like I would miss CDs and DVDs though, but then again I watch TV online, use a memory stick instead of burned CDs and mostly listen to music from mp3 files instead of on CD.

Hey, so, like 20 minutes ago when I found these things and felt like I had to share them with you, I had a ton of really interesting things to say about them. And now, well, not so much.

So I'm done now.
Bye Bye.

Why the internets are weird (and why you should therefor watch "Eli Stone").

A long time ago, in a lifetime that seems very very far away, I lived in Berkeley and had a job that basically entailed writing emails back and forth to friends all day in between surfing and reading all the new exciting "content" on the "world wide web." So fresh, so weird, so prolific, all those tech savvy folks who got themselves up on the net before it was fashionable (or profitable) to do so.

One early net writer was Pamela Ribon, of Pamie.com (formerly Squishy). I read her Squishy site pretty steadily until I left my job to go shack up with Joosh, losing all my at-work bookmarks and forgetting all about places like Squishy and Disgruntled Housewife and the Gallery of Regrettable Foods.

I rediscovered Pamie's site in 2005 and was entertained anew. She's written two books, "Why Girls Are Weird" (which I have not yet read) and "Why Moms Are Weird" (which I have, and quite enjoyed). She's also a head writer on the Christina Applegate vehicle show "Samantha Who?" (which, actually, is quite enjoyable as well). Well, she was a head writer until all these strike shenanigans shut down production.

{Excuse me a moment while I have a mini diatribe about the strike: As much as I'd like for the writers to win against the greedy bastages, be compensated fairly for their efforts with a piece of all the rewards that Web 2-point-frickin-Oh may potentially reap, and for the families of all the folks that provide support services to Hollywood to put back to work and be able to afford living in LA once again, I sort of secretly wish it would continue for many more months. I think that the only way America is going to wake up and get pissed at what is going on in the White House, in Iraq, in the future, in the climate, in the back pockets of government and corporations, etc, is if they are unplugged from the boob tube. Really, part of the reason this election cycle is so intense, I think - besides the fact that it's crazy historic, obviously - is because people are paying actual attention this time, being so bored of Reality TV and all. My theory is that if the strike were to continue through the Fall (no new shows until 2009 at the earliest), Bush and Cheney would be impeached. No, I'm serious, think about it. There would be enough people paying attention, supporting congressional efforts to file the articles, feeding on that sense of drama and tension in the story arc - it would absolutely captivate a narrative-hungry audience who just might be all the more interested by any connections they managed to make to their own lives, pocketbooks, futures, etc... Okay, ending the (not-mini) diatribe, have another episode of "Lost" to catch up on.}

Anyway, so Pamie of Pamie.com used to write for Television Without Pity (which was bought by Bravo/NBC, so insert sell-out joke here), where she apparently met and befriended this lovely lady, Anna Beth Chao from Hashai.com.
AB, as she is known, is hilarious. She has, of late, been using her Flikr account to update her adoring public, instead of her blog. I guess she's over it, the blogging. (On the plus side, her photos are perfect and her home decor is absurdly lust-inducing*).

One day, AB (who lives and works somewhere in the south, maybe Louisiana?) announced this bit of craziness on her flickr/blog: She was hired by someone (Greg Berlanti) whose show she used to recap (and mock) on TWOP to be a writer on his new show, "Eli Stone". What? That happens? REALLY???? Apparently, yes. I periodically checked up on her site and Pamie's to see what was happening at what they coined to be "TV Camp." There was no shortage of drool nor envy on my part whilst reading said updates.

As much as I read about the process, the road to the show, etc, I didn't read much about the program itself, so I didn't really know what to expect. All that managed to stick in my increasingly absent-minded head was the fact that Brit Johnny Lee Miller (the former Mr. Angelina Jolie, also known as Sickboy to anyone in high school or college in the mid-Nineties) was playing an American lawyer in SF. And since the strike began, I hadn't heard anything about it - I thought maybe it had already aired and been shelved.

No no, I was wrong. With the heralded return of "Lost" (Michael is the man Ben has on the freighter, and also the man in the coffin, bet you cash money), in sweeps Eli, which IMDB sums up thusly: " A legal drama centered on a lawyer (Miller) who begins to think he might be a prophet". This summation made me skeptical, but was intriguing enough when coupled with the whole behind-the-scenes-internet-stalking thing I'd been doing to make me want to tune in. So tune in I did.

I was totally unprepared for the hook, people. If you watch TV, you've probably seen the second week ads that blow the punchline of the first 10 minutes of the first show, but if you haven't, I totally don't want to ruin it for you. Let me just say that as the organ music rises in the beginning, and as Eli (and you, the viewer) finally puts it together what the song is, never in a million years did I expect that they, the writers/producers/whatever would a) pull, and b) get away with so well, such a stunt. I couldn't stop laughing: at Johnny's face (and white boy dancing in his underwear before going into the living room), at the scenario, at my own delight for being tricked by a TV show that lulled me into such a false sense of smugness thinking I totally had the show's number before it even started... terrific. Well done. Bravo, Berlanti, Bravo AB (and all the other nameless faceless writers whose flickr blogs I do not read).

I realize my track record for show recommending isn't stellar in this blog environment ("Chuck" disappointed me by episode two, but I was too forlorn to admit it here... I will say that I was reinvigorated in episode three or four, when Bob Ross from the PBS painting show got a chuckle-worthy shout-out, but I haven't watched any other episodes since. I hope I didn't steer you too terribly wrong. At least the actor who plays Chuck is adorable, right?). Regardless of my possibly questionable taste, episode one of "Eli Stone" is totally worth checking out. Those of you who loved "Alias" (you know who you are) will be pleased to note that Victor Garber appears prominently, as does Loretta Devine (every show is better with a sassy black friend or a snarky secretary, right, so her character is a double whammy).

Watch it. See if you are as tickled as I was. If so, you can thank the strange interwoven tubular tendrils of the internets for the fact that I even knew about it enough to watch, and thus pass it along to you. If not, well, whatever, sorry. What else would you be watching right now anyway, huh?

*I was inspired by AB's bookshelves and finally got around to organizing mine about a year after we'd moved in - maybe more than a year, actually. And Bex, sharp gal that she is, totally noticed that my books were organized by genre and color. I was simultaneously impressed with her and embarrassed for myself.

Whats I Beens Doin?

Since December, when last I typed a peep*, this is what I've been up to (in general order of life appearance):

1) Heard this on the radio and cried for an hour in my car.

2) As a form of recovery from the above song-listening and crying, spent WAY too much time on this site, laughing hardest over the following in particular: Bacon, Emo (because it reminds me of a certain singing friend from the nineties), Balloon, and Devil Cat. I must admit that I am not laughing nearly as hard now as I was in December when looking at these initially, but Bacon still gets me every time. Also, someone told me that the bible is being translated into this language, the LOLCATS speak, so to speak. I didn't believe them. I was wrong.

3) Missed family at the holidays, but enjoyed a nice quiet time here in Portland. Kicked it with the Watsons. It was cool. Literally:



4) Tried to keep Christmas shenanigans to a minimum, and almost managed to succeed, until Joosh went out and spoiled the bejesus out of me with this:

(It's a giant Timbuk2 bag, the size and beautiful colors of which you likely are not able to discern from this hideous photo. It is big enough for all my schoolbooks, a laptop and most of my torso and shoulders, should I ever need to haul those around in a satchel).

And this:

(A keen-eyed rememberer of clothing named Jojo might be able to place the fabric from the quilt patch on the sewing machine. The flowery stuff. It was a hippie skirt. There may have been two tinkly bells on the tie at the waist, which I am not willing to admit to just now. It was a senior year thrift store find. I loved it long time. The black stuff is from a silk robe purchased in Chinatown, in college. Good times.)

So, me, I was very much spoiled. And I, in turn, got him a box full of foreign beers and a hand-made Shop Class metal arts type project craftily using wedding favor candy tins and rolls of self-adhesive cut-out magnet material (please. don't. ask). And pajamas, whoopee. So someone needs to get a real job and give someone else a nice Christmas in July, or something redeeming like that. Yeah.

5) Received several lovely items from AC, to whom I have still not sent my thank you note. Three items were for Joosh, and I have taken over all but one.

6) Started seeing an Acupuncturist, to discover that I suffer from "Dampness." Ooookay, then. At least it's not called "Moistness" since, as some of you know, I despise that word (yes, even when describing cake). Actually, the treatments, herbs and diet adjustments have been pretty miracle-working. I'm okay with not eating sugar (most of the time) but the bread, booze and fried stuff was not so easy to give up. When I partake of the above, however, I am So. Pissed. afterward. My traitorous belly punishes me severely, and I re-learn the lesson anew every time. Goddammit.

***Updated to say that Chinese Medicine is good for people and puppies, too. (Warning to women of childbearing age: clicking this link may cause spontaneous ovulation and/or immaculate conception from the cuteness of the wee child leading the post. The cheeks, holy, god, the CHEEKS. And the eyes. And the faces. And and and... Obviously I am completely smitten). But back to the canine family member in the Lalaland household: Best wishes for a speedy recovery to Lulu the super dog.***

7) Spent lots of time with these folks:


8) Had some excellent times (chats, fun, laughs, near-peeing-self-on-couch-misses, meals and entire host of other things we miss by living far apart from each other) with this gal.

9) Enrolled in two writing classes at this school. Began writing A LOT.

10) Waited impatiently for this little lady to arrive:


11) Attempted to try out for this but was foiled at the pre-tryout clinic by my Britney Spears Sketcher Skates (Damn you, Britney! Why you gotta put a weenie back stopper on your stupid skates?) and when offered a pair of replacements from a Breakneck Bettie (which smelled really bad, but were otherwise awesome - the skates, not the Bettie), I totally bailed out waiting for the second run of a sprint thing that involved running five steps on the toestops (front ones, BritBrit, duh) then full tilt boogie skating supa fast, then spinning and stopping short, again on the toe stops. Notice my words here: I bailed WAITING for the second run. I kicked ass on the first run. Then, while waiting in line for the second run, I totally toppled over just standing there, not even moving. Bottom line, I totally f'ed up my ankle on the Saturday before try-outs and was hobbling around like a dweeb with an ace bandage for days.

12) Was delighted by aforementioned ankle troubles when forced to miss out on actual trials, as I watched from the stands and subsequently understood them to involve thirty laps of fast skating BEFORE any of the timed trials, relays, etc. Had I not been hobbled, I would have killed at this, and then died, and then returned home after 3 hours completely deadxhausted, only to shower and turn around to head to the Watsons for Sarah's birth march. Okay, not a march, but it was in no way a fast experience. And there was some slow walking, almost a march, maybe sorta kinda a little. I kid: It was amazing. And I would have been suffering terribly and in no way able to provide any kind of support to Mama and Papa had I just been beaten down by all the bashing babes on blades. Er, skates.

13) Experienced the miracle of all miracles with Ms. Watson's birth. I swear I am STILL high from the whole thing. Jess was amazing, Mark was terrific, the baby is perfect. The entire event was totally mind-blowingly insane and scary and miraculous and great.

14) Continued to write lots more. Including a "please excuse my absence from class" paper about the fact that I was away giving birth. I'm sure that sounds bizarre, but we have to write these one page make-up papers about why we missed class, and they can't be true. So I borrowed heavily from what I had been witnessing whilst having to miss said class. My classmates responded well to the piece, though one gal felt the need to tell us all about how one thing "they" never tell you is that there is lots of poop involved in birth. (There was not in this birth, let me just clear that up right now). I told her, and thus the class full of people, that I had a lovely book, The Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy and Childbirth (from the 90's, written by music producer Jimmy Iovine's sarcastic and not entirely unmean wife) which did indeed warn us all about the poop possibilities. The men in the room, with the exception of the one who wrote a fantastic "Dear John" letter to his masculinity** (I love him), were not super excited about our side conversation.

15) Decided to apply to this program at the above mentioned school (in spite of the fecal related feedback of my potential peers).

16) Did so, with the procurement of some very lovely last minute letters of recommendation and the crazy scramble to write/edit 30+ pages of material for submission (and an unquantifiable amount of constant patient support from my man - he's a saint or a masochist, I haven't decided). I don't know what he's doing in this photo.

So, yeah. Turned in app on 2/1/08.

Started to wait.

Am still waiting.

Will continue to wait.

17) Due to above decision, chose to skip a lovely Bay Area visit with the Davis girls in order to make a dent in the 30 pages, but did get to see this gal again briefly, which is always good.

18) Took this harder than I would have expected.

19) Fell suddenly and pretty hard for this guy. And this only added fuel to the fire (of my political support AND my wretched crush on young ScarJo, because I am a dirty old lady).

20) Got excited that my kid brother got himself a job (and tried not to think about the fact that he's starting at $4 an hour MORE than I was making as an emotional toilet bowl at my last job - not including commissions and non-existant bonuses, of course, BUT STILL). Congrats, moneybags.

And now, internets, I think we are relatively up to date. I have lots more to tell you about terribly unimportant things, but this will have to do for now.

Good luck to Grandma and her eye surgery tomorrow morning.

Happy Ash Wednesday to the rest of you. No sinning for 40 days (right? isn't that how it works?). Can you deal? No? Then come on over here and sit by me.

*The unforeseen stoppage in writage was due to the information that my mother has been alerted to this portal in the blogosphere by one or more of my careless brothers who left it in the browser of her computer "by mistake". Dork(s). It wasn't some big secret, just nothing I had planned to advertise until there was a delicious pile of baby or something equally splendid to advertise on these pages. Until then, I'd hoped not to think too much about the audience (future job offer prospects and the egos of people I still care about in life not withstanding). Oh well. Hi, Mom. Hope you got over that nasty flu by now.

**Oh my God, this guy is so funny. His piece was a total break up letter, to his masculinity, with the whole "it's not you, it's me" and "I hope we can still be friends" and it ended with "You know you're still my favorite to fart and shotgun beers with." So totally great. Unfortunately, as I was trying to give some feedback about the format, I said something to the effect of liking the whole "It's not me, it's you" bit, and how we could all relate to that and suddenly the class started laughing. It took me a minute to realize what I'd said. I started to correct myself, but then decided that, no, my slip was actually more apropos to any of my possible Dear Johns or many other interpersonal troubles: It's not me, it's you.

Cutest Boy I Know.

While trying to find a photo of a previous Hanukkah bush (the first that Josh and I had in Berkeley, that had a super funny Dr. Seuss-like crooked bend in the middle), I came across these sweet snaps from last summer's camping trip at Lost Lake with the Watsons:

How unbelievably adorable is this kiddo, I ask you? He's like the poster child for the tremendous fun and good times involved in camping. Look at this face:


Such a sweetheart, and so good during our adventure! This was during some of the worst of the family business drama that I was dealing with over the summer, and this little man never failed to put a smile on my face through it all. I think I might have written down some of the gems he came up with during this trip, if I can find them I'll post them (after all, why should such a dollface be limited to public embarrassment from just his parents, right? Honorary Aunties with blogs should be allowed to kvell, too).

Speaking of public embarrassment, I also found some photos from New Year's Eve Y2K (what Millennium Bug?). I am still deciding if I will post them, a la Bex's "Old School Photo of the Day."

I am leaning toward yes. We'll see.

Happy Hanukkah, Goyim.

Happiest of Hanukkahs, folks.

For you, a gift, the gift of the miracle of light:

It's the little menorah that could. The very one purchased with Bex at Noah's Bagels on Solano, in Berkeley, like a million years ago (um, more precisely: eleven years ago).

Don't you like my fetching pastiche here, arranged around the fire in demonstration of the conflicted struggle between Boho Artiste and would-be Business Woman, the oppositional forces of which I am obviously grappling with on a daily basis? To wit: Oh wait, this is the wrong photo. Dang. This is the one I took with my camera phone, because I could send it to myself by email because I can't find the thingy (you know, the thingy) that lets me pull photos off my camera and put them on my computer. I do know the name for it, but it escapes me just now. I'm very tired. Be quiet, I do too know the name.

Anyway, okay, well in this photo you can see only a tiny piece of my Boho/Business identity crisis, namely that there are two phones and two business credit card settlement notices on the table (long story there, not important or interesting, except that there will be cash back, oh yes there will be cash back); as well as my expensive and pillar-shaped "Deluxe Hanukah (sic) Candles" from New Seasons; a chestnut that I found on the street and thought would be a cool thing to do something cool with (like what? Your guess is as good as mine at this point); and my little silver piggy bank Christmas tree ornament that I think I may have accidentally stolen from Target because it was not on my bill post checkout, and was more in my purse than in my shopping bag when I unpacked the goods at home. Hmmm.

(Not shown and/or just beyond the frame of the cameraphone version of my desk: camera; watercolors; post-its; biz credit card; biz receipts; web site how-to book; artsy "To Do" pad from Powell's; knitting needles - I suck, in case you were wondering-- bead project; pretty paper for folding interesting paper boxes with which I had reasonable success for Jess's shower; ten printouts about how to market using Facebook - gag, not for my own business, fyi -- and of course my giant 22" LCD monitor. Please hold all judgments until the results of the duke-it-out match have been tallied in full and new business cards - or artist cards! - have been printed).

So anyway, the focus of the photo, the menorah. It's moved with me 8 times so far, and been lit probably 9 out of the 11 Festival of Lights'n'Latkes since then. Not bad for a $6.99 little bitty from the bagel shop.

Two years running I couldn't find candles that fit the wee holes, and both years Joosh whittled the ends of the candles to the right size. Once they were giant thick 'oh no the electricity is out' candles, and he fully slivered them down to practically matchsticks. Every night. That's like, 2+3+4+5+6+7+8+9, so what 42 candles total? How cute is that (especially for an anti-semite, right Ma?)?

Unfortunately, bad jew that I am, I ALWAYS forget the third and fourth to the last words of the candle-lighting prayer - l'had'lik neir - and have to go look it up on something like Jew Faq (dot org). Thank g-d, once again, for the interwebs. I would be a shiksa without it.

And speaking of (the interwebs, not shiksas!)... In addition to the Hanukkah wishes I want to say a mighty Congratu-effing-lations to Bex on completion of her first semester of the brutality that is law school. Dude, you are 1 down and only 5 to go. And you are a rockstar.

I feel like I had very deep thoughts to share with you all about my acupuncture treatment today, but unfortunately anything remotely deep and/or sensical has fallen straight out ma heed.

So I will instead share with you my new haircut and wish you good leftover latkes tomorrow morning.

You like? I went to a salon that specializes in curly hair. The camerphoney quality of the photo, on top of the low lighting (of the menorah flame in an otherwise dark room, thank you very much) doesn't show all the magic that is the separate little spiral curls out from the top of my head, but trust me, they are luscious. And of course they are nothing that I will be able to recreate tomorrow, but that's okay. Just for tonight I will love them like they deserve to be loved, and tomorrow I will lament their loss and see if any of my ridiculous hair product (that I never use because hello, I work at home and who cares?) can reassemble anything even remotely similar without the shudder-inducing crunch of mousse, as is the standard when trying to coax out the ringlets.

And yes, I'm wearing a pajama top. And yes I wore it all day. Whatever. At least I wore a skirt, and not PJ bottoms, as I've been known to wear in places like Andronicos and Baker's Square and Spat's. The only bad thing about the PJ top wearage today, actually, is that there's this ridiculous little bow at the bust, under a line of lace, and I wonder if my new haircutter lady (tats, pin-up girl style, etc) thought I was some sort of Holly Homemaker. My hair was a teensy bit Baby from Dirty Dancing when I first walked out, which was not what I had in mind when I said I was "looking for a bit of a change". We'll see what tomorrow brings.

Ketchup, part 2: Trip to California, subpart B.

And shortly the All Hallows Eve, full of sugar and expensively-suited small people running up your steps, was upon us.

Halloween-y at Joosh's mom's place. Nephew Liam, being the damn cutest giraffe you'll ever see. Except that his outfit was a tiny bit too tight and he kept trying to yank the crotch free. Technically he was a bit of a skeevy giraffe, I guess.



And still later in the week I drove through parts of LA previously unknown to me (Irvine, Santa Ana, godforsaken places one and all) to see El Jefe, with whom I'd been working on the aforementioned ridiculous project for the last few months. We were supposed to go the Oceanography center, but when I arrived at about 1, there was a police blockade, so we renegotiated our plan to involve mediocre pizza and a park for some fun times.

The kids were along for the ride, and if you know Jefferey and his lovely wife, you'll know at first glance that these two are literal chips off the old blocks. May I present Mini-JLG and Mini-CSH:


They are incredibly funny and absurdly smart. And it's probably a good thing they are home-schooled, because they are the kinds of adorable precocious who would get their hilarious butts kicked and their brains shrunk in public schools (yes, even the snotty la la schools in So. Cal!).

Here I asked them to make their kookiest craziest grossiest faces. This is what they came up with:

With a smidge more prompting (grosser! crazier! C'mon!):



Ash conquers the rings:



Autum(nal) conquers the rock wall:















El Jefe conquers Dana Point (while rocking the ever-sweet 'Refugee Facial Hair' look, apparently grown during the wildfire evacuation the previous week):




The entire family (sans CSH who did not join, but was surely wearing them within a hundred miles of us all the same) wore Crocs. I found this funny.



Hipster parents and their hipster spawn, taking over the world one dress-over-jeans or punked-out-hoodie outfit at a time:

(Please note the evidence of California's real estate market shining on the hilltop in the background, just above jeans/dress girls head).

I didn't get a good shot of the possibly older women dressed youngisher (so of indeterminable age) in tight leopardy-slash militantish yoga wear who Jefe insisted were a lesbian couple. I had hoped you might weigh in on the subject. They were wearing Neimen Marcus versions of ghetto caszh, basically. And I disagreed about the couple thing. But Jefe also thinks that JK Rowling outed Dumbledore (who is CLEARLY not gay, not that there's anything wrong with that) in order to make the actress who plays Hermione feel better about the fact that she is, in fact, a total lesbian. So take his assessments with a grain (or several) of salt.


Prior to the arrival of the other kids in the photo above, I had a total "That kid is STILL on the ESCALATOR" moment with this aging skater punk dad and the daredevil egg-onment of his progeny.

It might be too small to see without enlarging the photo to full size, but man, I could practically hear the bones breaking, precognitive echoes playing over the voice of Brodyman in Mallrats in my head. A few minutes later they busted out a skateboard and went to town. No, no helmut. (God help me, I'm an old old old lady).

So that's about it. There were many other activities on the California trip, of which I did not manage to photo document any further. Visits with grandparents, brothers, mom, dad, step-brother and fam (where I broke the news about the fact that one of their Halloween pumpkins was covered in the recalled "Aqua Dots" beads, you know, the ones that turn into the frickin date rape drug when ingested? Thank you, China, you piece of shit, and thanks all you nutjob USA consumers so desperate for cheaper and cheaper crap that you don't give a rat's ass about where it comes from, how it gets here, what the impact is, etc, until your own spawn are threatened with immediate comas or a case of lead poisoning. Grrrrrr. Though I should offer the caveat that the Aqua Dots were not at all cheap, they are absurdly expensive, actually - I guess you have to pay extra for a drug in your toys that some people actually want and pay good money to procure on or before date night).

Hmmm, I seem to be getting bitter and crankypants. Perhaps I should leave off about now. I meant to end with a tribute to my love and yours, Mr. Ben Harper, who graced us in Portland with his harmonious presence last week, but my account of the lovefest, it will have to wait.

Congrats to Bexy on her last day of classes for the first semester!!! Crazy fast, this semester flew by. I've yet to try the New Year's Drink contender recipe yet, but I will do so soon. There's always the sweet Saphire nectar to fall back on come 29 December, right? Congrats, honey. You are totally rocking the school of law.