Photo Friday: Green

It's not easy being green. Just ask E. All she wanted was nice, quiet sushi lunch. And she ended up with a faceful of flashing green lights.

Did you notice that I actually posted my Photo Friday picture on Friday? That's right. Check me, like, totally out.

Eat lead, Cobra!

This morning's topic of discussion at Planning Shop headquarters involved the question of the talking Barbie doll. Possibly the most frequently quoted celebrity around here, talking Barbie's cries of "Math is hard!" and "Shopping is fun!" can be heard echoing throughout the vast expanses of Planning Shop territory, usually when one of our more computer literate team members (Arthur) attempts to explain some sort of computer- or software-related function to one our less computer-literate team members (anyone besides Arthur).

I can't remember what prompted this morning's cry of "Math is hard" from the Northwest quadrant of the office, but that led to a discussion of whether an actual Barbie doll had at some point been manufactured to say these ridiculous (but true) things (Rhonda's position), of if these statements had actually been proclaimed by Malibu Stacy, the Barbie doll parody, in an episode of The Simpsons (my position--I was pretty sure that there had been a talking version of Malibu Stacy who said these things, prompting Lisa to protest the sexist doll and spawning the manufacture of Graduate Student Stacy. I was pretty dang sure.).

"I'm confident that you posses the skills to find these things out," commented Rhonda. And find them out I did.

Rhonda, you win. In 1992, Mattel gave us Teen Talk Barbie, who says--you guessed it--"math is hard," "shopping is fun," "meet me at the mall," "can we ever have enough clothes?" and "let's plan our dream wedding!" How did I miss this? I guess I was busy studying in my algebra class.

The best part though, is what the BLO (Barbie Liberation Organization) managed to do:

"Taking advantage of similarities in the voice hardware of Teen Talk Barbie and the Talking Duke G.I. Joe doll, er, 'action figure,' the BLO absconded with several hundred of each and performed a stereotype-change operation on the lot.

The surgery was no simple matter - circuit boards had to be trimmed, a capacitor moved, and a switch re-engineered. The press made it sound like an easy pop-and-switch operation, but this took some research and dedication.

The BLO returned the altered dolls to the toy store shelves, who then resold them to children who had to invent scenarios for Barbies who yelled 'Vengeance is mine!' and G.I. Joes who daydreamed 'Let's plan our dream wedding!'"

Vengeance is yours, Barbie. Vengeance is yours.

Photo Friday: Space

Once again, yes, I realize that today is Wednesday and not Friday. Please commence with the cutting of some slack.

By the way, that's a picture of that lunar eclipse from last winter.

A love-hate relationship with fangs

I live with two cats. I think a lot of people live in multi-cat households, and they already know where this is going. Multi-cat households experience one of two general atmospheres:

1. mutual affection between the cats, lots of running around and chasing and wrestling, very little blood.

2. two or more cats who are rarely, if ever, in the same room at the same time, lots of running around and chasing and wrestling, copious amounts of howling and blood ensue.

For the 7 years that I have lived with these two cats, our situation has been closer to atmosphere #2. But something happened about a year and a half ago, and both of these cats became much more tolerant of each other. Both seem content to sleep in the living room at the same time, and I've even seen them eating on the same table (food: the great unifier). Everyone who knows them agrees that they seem like different cats. Happier. More friendly.

But I never expected this.



Miru and Milhouse, just hanging out on the bed, not fighting. Not hissing. Not making awful kitty howling noises. And this went on for about 10 minutes--I did, eventually, get sick of sitting on the floor and not wanting to disturb such allied feline tendencies by actually getting into bed.

Ozzy's jealous ways solved that problem. He jumped up onto the bed, Milhouse promptly leaped out of the way, and Miru proceeded to deliver his patented "Cobra Bite" (tm) to Ozzy's face.



The cat won, Ozzy left, I took advantage of all of the space available in bed now that there was only one additional animal, and got in bed. Everybody wins! Sort of. I win, anyway.

Everyday is Blog Appreciation Day

I love my blog. I mean, I looooooooooove my blog. I love sharing pictures of my dogs wearing my knitted goods. I love sending shout-outs to those friends who have birthdays and those who have babies. I love giving readers the opportunity to hear the soundtrack of my life, because after all, I have impeccable taste in music. For instance, I spoke with a very nice professor from Boston University earlier this week, and have had Jonathan Richman in my head ever since. These are things worth sharing. Nay, these are things which must be shared, it is imperative, lest the brilliance that is my daily life go un-chronicled, un-read, un-clicked upon.

I like to spend about 15 minutes or so blogging after lunch. It's a great way to transition between food intake and productive output. A little concentrated, focused creativity, and I'm good to go. (Sometimes, I'll check my stats on sitemeter if I need a little ego stoking. Hey, even 6 page view sends me over the top, 'cause I know that my mom can't be responsible for more than 5 of them...)

So today, when Blogger was down for 45 minutes for scheduled maintenance this afternoon, I was sad. I may have even let out a barely audible whimper.

I never want my blog to become one of the many fantastic things in my life that I take for granted. I've already got too many of those, and decreasing that number is already pretty high up on my List.

So here's to you, blog of my heart. Blog of my job, blog of my life, blog of my mind and my spirit. Here's to you.

Le happiest place on earth

A few years back Max and I spent a week in Paris with my family, celebrating my Mom's birthday. There were museums, boat rides, strange and enchanting French bars, delightfully rich food with funny names, and plenty of sightseeing. On the day that my parents and my brother went to the Louvre, L and I chose instead to go to Euro Disney.

That's right. No Mona Lisa for us. Give me Donald Duck and Big Thunder Mountain!

I was a little nervous at the time that I would come to regret this decision. That someday, I would think to myself, "Why, oh why, did I pass up the opportunity to gaze upon so many world-renown pieces of art?! Why, oh why, did I spend the day running around in fake coon-skin cap, higher on sugar than I'd been in years?! Woe is me, for I've made a terrible mistake!"

Hasn't happened yet. As a matter of fact, there have been few decisions made in my life that I've been as comfortable with. Our day in Euro Disney shall live on as one of the best days ever. The train ride there and back, the relative solitude we experienced in the park (it was the middle of November, threatening rain, and fairly deserted), Max's alternating expressions of pure joy and nostalgia (his parents took his family there for vacation when he was a kid), and the way we fell happily asleep on the floor watching Raiders of the Lost Ark in my parents' rental apartment.

It doesn't get much better than that.

Busy Little Bees

Kronk! Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Ping! Kronk! Whrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Ping! That's the sound of The Planning Shop, grinding and cranking away as we prepare for Book Expo America, a mere two and a half weeks away (that's also the sound of my excuse for neglecting my blog this week).

It's a mad house here, I tell ya. Book covers, advance reading copies, mobile internet connections--it's a logistical nightmare! A totally do-able, completely under control logistical nightmare. Arthur keeps his cool in the midst of deadlines.



Manhattan, here we come!

A day of well-wishing and thinking good thoughts

A big, frothy cup of birthday wishes to my good friend and soon-to-be traveling partner, DRB (known in some circles as little db). There few people in this world that my dogs like better, and there are even fewer people in this world with whom I'd rather be stuck on a desert island.



This is a picture of DRB in her natural habitat. A hiker by day, and a camper by night, DRB took me on my first and only backpacking trip back in 2000, for which, someday, I will forgive her. Actually it was one of the better vacations of my adult life, despite the name of the location--Desolation Wilderness--complete with dogs, swimming, and large rocks. I've know DRB since my college days, and she will forever be my favorite tree-hugging dirt-worshipper. Plus, she has 4 cats: 2 twin girls, one
a former ninja and one with a taste for blood, a big fluffy boy who regularly hits on my boyfriend, and one rescued stray with a detatched retina (detatched retina = one rather noticeable bug eye, Don Knots style). And you just can't argue with that! To celebrate the anniversary of her birth, I will go see M. Ward tonight, who is also from Portland.

05.05.05

I missed Pie Day (3.14) back in March, and I've been making up for it ever since. Pecan Pie, Key Lime Pie, Rhubarb Pie... the intervention didn't help much either. Today is another numerical fun day, and will be celebrated thusly. In conjunction with Cinco de Mayo, I will celebrate 05.05.05 tonight by going out with 5 friends, drinking 5 Coronas, and eating five Taco Bel Grandes. Or maybe I'll stay home and watch El Mariachi again. Either way.

Of course, I could celebrate the fiveness of the day by sending this delightful example of human ingenuity to five people. Five people who would forever question my sanity and slowly let our relationship dwindle in oblivion. Can you blame them? Really?

I play Air hockey, Ball hockey, Barn Hockey, Bubble Hockey, Field hockey...

I know you're all just dying to hear about how the International Ice Hockey Federation's 2005 World Championship is going. Wait no longer! Read on, my hip-checking, chicken-dancing, dipsy-doodling brothers and sisters:

STATS AFTER DAY THREE

Points:
1. Michail Grabovsky (BLR) 5 points (4 goals/1 assist)
2. Rick Nash (CAN) 4 (3/1)
3. Daniel Alfredsson (SWE) 4 (2/2)
4. Niko Kapanen (FIN) and Konstantin Koltsov (BLR)4 (1/3) each
6. Marian Hossa (SVK) and Daniel Sedin (SWE) 3 (2/1) each
8. Joe Thornton (CAN) 3 (1/2)
9. Niklas Kronwall (SWE) 3 (0/3)
21 player with 2 pts

Goals:
1. Grabovsky 4
2. Nash 3
5 players with 2

Assists:
1. Kapanen and Kronwall 3 each
12 players with 2

Goalkeepers (SVS%):
1. Rick DiPietro (USA) 100.00%
2. Andrej Mezin (BLR) 97.53%
3. Witali Kolesnik (KAZ) 96.97%
4. Tomas Vokoun (CZE) 95.65%
5. Niklas Backstrom (FIN) 95.00%

Teams:

Scoring Percentage:
1. USA 17.50% of all shots are in
2. Latvia 16.00%
3. Canada 13.04%

Penalty Minutes:
1. Ukraine 36 PIM
2. Austria 30
3. Russia 28
4. Slovakia 20
5. Belarus 18

Ah, if only The Planning Shop had offices in Innsbruck.

The next step is to start performing my special "Collective-Bargaining-Agreement-Reached-by-the-start-of-the-2005-2006-NHL-Hockey-Season" dance at closer intervals. Apparently, 4 times a day isn't enough.

Mouse-sized people leads to people-sized mice

Arthur commented this morning that if he had a blog, this is something he'd blog about:

"Adult stem cell researcher Irving Weissman, M.D. of the Stanford School of Medicine wants to develop mice that have a lot of human neurons in their brains.

So Stanford asked where it should draw the line. It is the first university in the nation to tackle the philosophical question: When does a chimera stop being an animal and start becoming a person, suggesting that research should end? The report foreshadows the release of guidelines on stem-cell research, including chimeras, by the National Academy of Sciences this spring.

'We concluded that if we see any signs of human brain structures . . . Or if the mouse shows human-like behaviors, like improved memory or problem-solving, it's time to stop,' said law and genetics Professor Henry T. Greely, director of the Center for Law and the Biosciences and leader of the committee."

Arthur began to marvel at the science, the ethical dilemma, the sci-fi-esque-ness of it all, the very idea that Stanford Ph.D's were considering the possibility that these scientists could develop mice with people brains prompted the blog comment. All I had to hear was "mice with people brains," and I knew what was going on. I saw the writing on the wall. I've seen Pinky & Brain enough times to know that smart rodents are dangerous (yet doomed to fail time and time again due to hilarious circumstances). I vowed never to view my friend's hamster the same way again.

Equally as disturbing as the thought of tiny mouse-sized geniuses taking over the world was the concept of " if the mouse shows human-like behaviors." Like asking for a doughnut. Or voting for an idiot. Twice. Or TiVo-ing the Spanish version of Deadwood on accident because it pressed the button for HBO-L (Latino) instead of HBO-1. You know, human-like behaviors.

Photo Friday: Fancy

The rotunda at City Hall in San Francisco + a feather boa = fancy.

The Big One-Seven-Five

Happy birthday, Adolph Sutro! Engineering mastermind, savvy businessman, once-Mayor of San Francisco, builder of the Cliff House and the Sutro Baths, and planter of the Sutro Forest on top of Mount Sutro. This is where the Sutro Tower was built in 1971-72 (named for the location, not the man) and where it still stands, stoically watching over me and protecting my puppies as they run and play in Duboce Park. I'm a big fan of the tower. I love living near enough to it so that I can see it everyday--but far enough away so that I can avoid all that electromagnetic radiation.

The Sutro Tower is 977 feet tall, and weighs about 3.7 million pounds. It stands in the exact center of San Francisco, and I think that the city's landscape is incomplete without it. So many photographers focus on the Golden Gate Bridge (love it), the skyline of the downtown financial district (love it), the Coit Tower (love it), the TransAmerican--or, "Pyramid"--Building (love it), even the Bay Bridge (love it, except when I'm stuck on it).



But I love how all of these glorious and beautiful landmarks are all crowded around the mouth of the bay and the Embarcadero and the Presidio, all packed into this relatively tiny space (not unlike the Victorians throughout the city), and the Sutro Tower stands proudly above them and west up Market Street, balancing out the conglomeration of concrete and steel beauties. The visual is astounding. And once the fog gets involved, it's all I can do not to cry.

Sometimes I never want to leave this city.

*sigh*

The Great White North comes to Palo Alto

It's raining again, and the commute was hellish. But I had beautiful music to get me through it, so I don't feel the need to fill my blog with traffic and weather complaints. Consider yourselves lucky (she said to all 3 readers.).

If I were the kind of person who gave shout-outs, I would give one to I & J who have a special new friend in their lives. They are going to make terrific parents.

Later this afternoon, The Planning Shop is going to get a visit from one our favorite people: Wade Davies. Wade is the guy who prints our books. He doesn't print them personally, but he manages all the stuff between us sending him an electronic file and him sending us physical books. And he's plays hockey! And he's Canadian. One of the first interactions I ever had with Wade was back in 1999. It was the week before Thanksgiving, and a fax came in with a cartoon drawing a hitch-hiking turkey and an American flag. The caption read, "Don't let your turkey get away! Happy Thanksgiving!" it wasn't that it was specifically Canadian in origin, or even non-American, but something about it was so sincere and sweet. It was discovered years later that it had come from a book of fax templates specifically designed for Canadians to send to their American clients...I still have that fax.

Yet Another Paris Hilton Post

OK, so having TiVo means a couple of things:

1) I have never been happier in my entire life.

2) It might be a week or two after a show airs that I actually blog about it.

With point #2 in mind, last week's episode of The Simple Life was so enlightening! Paris and Nicole had an internship at this ultra-hip ad agency, and they were assigned to the new Burger King campaign for the Enormous breakfast sandwich. Hilarity ensued. A subplot of the episode involved the girls' host family--a mother and son team who act as care takers of 2 twin baby orangutans.

!!!!!!!

Watching Paris Hilton interact with baby orangutans was brilliant television. This girl had found her place. As soon as she saw them Paris squealed with delight and commenced with the cuddling. She laughed heartily when the organgutans pulled on her hair and clothes, and yanked her skirt up to reveal her turquoise undergarments (not the same way she laughs when she yanks up her own skirt in clubs and such--this time, it was endearing.). I think Paris should take her millions of dollars and invest in an orangutan habitat. And then film a reality show about it. I'd TiVo that.

Scarf #3

Things change. As far as I can tell, this is the only constant in life.

Maybe the San Francisco Giants and SBC Park have been hit pretty hard by the economy. Maybe they wanted to make a point about classism. For whatever reason, they are now insisting that you remove your own damn center from the ass gaskets. This applies to all restrooms in the stadium, including the Club Level. I did some heavy reconnaissance work to come to this conclusion. Beers were consumed. Bladders were emptied.

Despite the extra bathroom responsibility forced upon me, I had a terrific time at the game. The garlic fries were tasty. And during the 3rd, 4th, 7th, 8th and 9th innings, I managed to finish knitting scarf #3:



Scarf #3 modeled by yours truly:



It's a lot less chartreuse and more grass green than it looks. And it's the first of many skinny spring scarves to come, in a variety of spring-like colors. Pink. Turquoise. Melon. SPRING. Not winter. Spring.

Why yes, I am better than most people.

Tonight I'm going to the Giants game at SBC Park (read: going out for garlic fries) with my dad. SBC Park really is a beautiful stadium, very olde tyme and retro. It's also one of the few places that really makes you feel special if you're a premium ticket holder.

Most places charge you an extra 20 bucks per ticket for what amounts to nothing but a better, closer view of the team/band/show. You still have to wait in line, you still have to circle around on the endless parking search. When we saw Mates of State at Slim's, we bought premium tickets, which included dinner, only because those were the only tickets left. Slim's did a great job at making us feel, well, premium. Even our seats were elevated above all of the regular, common folk, the general admission ticket holders. Because we were better than, and our tickets proved it.

SBC Park shows its reverence for its premium ticket holders by providing some basic necessities, but with a little more oomph. The food in the Club Level, as it's called, is all around better (the garlic fires are available to all ticket holders, don't worry). You can actually find a salad there, which is a pleasant escape from the delicious but oh-so-greasy hot dogs found in the "regular" section of the park. There are 2 full bars--because I don't know about you, but by the bottom of the 5th inning, I could kill for a gin and tonic. Plus, the Club Level provides a glass window-enclosed viewing area for when the fog rolls in and the wind picks up and it gets really cold. (Anyone who's spent a summer evening in San Francisco knows what I'm talking about. For those of you who haven't experienced the anomaly of weather that is San Francisco, it's almost May and I'm knitting a scarf. For immediate usage.)

But here's the real kicker, that extra mile that the Giants go in order to make its premium ticket holders feel the love: the center portions of the toilet seat covers are pre-separated. That is to say, instead of punching out the center portion along the perforations, like you would in any other public restroom, simply pull up, then pull down, and place on toilet seat. SBC Park and your San Francisco Giants have done the rest. But only for our premium Club Level ticket holders. Everyone else has to remove the center of their own ass gaskets.

Unless you know how to sneak into the Club Level.

Two great tastes that taste great together

The following list is comprised of pairs of things that go together very well indeed. Why, you ask? Why not?

Magnum, P.I. and Tropicana pizza
(that's pizza with curry, bananas, ham, and mushrooms):
This combination is best experience when laying on a mattress on the floor of your--or a friend's--dorm room, watching re-runs of Magnum--with Swedish subtitles if at all possible--and sharing the above mentioned Swedish junk food delicacy. (I'm not kidding, There are dozens of weird Swedish pizza toppings and combinations, including, but not limited to, fried eggs and prawns. There's an interesting blog post about it here and here.)

Chocolate and Cheese:
Acceptable variations include:
1. Hostess cupcakes and EZ Cheese
2. Convenience store brownies and the spready cheese from Handi-Snacks cheese n' crackers
3. Ritz Bitz cheese sandwich crackers and chocolate frosting from a can

Knitting and Network Crime Dramas:
If you're not a knitter, you may substitute needle point, crosstitch, pant-leg-hemming, crocheting, or any other form of hand-help fiber arts. Recommended combinations:
1. Law & Order: Criminal Intent & a ribbed, grass green scarf
2. CSI Miami & and a turquoise remote control cozy
3. Las Vegas (well I think it's a crime drama) and a tangerine faux-letterman dog sweater

Marc Summers and Gary Sinise:
'Cause I said so.

Photo Friday: Soft

This little house lion may be just about the softest thing ever. Of course, referring to Miru as "little" is done only in comparison to a regular-sized lion. Ain't nothing little about him.

Baby Talk

One of my favorite people in the world is pregnant. In fact, she's very pregnant. Like, 4 days past her due date, camping outside the hospital and ready to pay someone to induce labor pregnant. Her husband is another one of my favorite people in the world. They are going to make the most kick-ass set of parents any little kid could hope for. Last September when they told me that they were pregnant (joyful squeal!) and moving to Minneapolis (depressed sob!), the baby was approximately the size of J.'s fist. Of her fist. The baby is now the size of some thing much larger than a fist, the size of something that makes the woman carrying it in her body determined to destroy all cameras in a 3 mile radius. Godspeed, little Baby Redman. Please hurry and relieve your mommy--I know she'd appreciate it.

So I've already got baby on the brain. One of the best bloggers around writes wonderful anecdotes about his kids (as a good daddy should). Another one of my favorite bloggers wrote about her very pregnant friend today. All of these baby-doin's a-transpirin' make me look around at my two 65 pound dogs and my two 14-pound cats and think, "Thank god they don't wear diapers."

This is the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life.

Ever. I swear.

I have been known, at times, to exaggerate. This is not one of those times.



Do I look like I'm kidding?

Tomorrow night I'm going to try my darndest to meet my friend S. at The Rite Spot to see The Frisky Frolics. If you like ukuleles, tin pan alley music, festive headwear, or any combination of the three, then you would also enjoy The Frisky Frolics. And seriously now, who doesn't enjoy a good ukulele-driven bar act?

The Spring, she has sprung, yes?

If you had any doubt, here's proof that it is absolutely, totally Springtime:

It's not that Ozzy only rolls in the grass when it's Springtime, but the dreary Winter months don't compel him to roll with such voracity, with such gusto. Speaking of gusto...

If ever a dog had a sole purpose in life, Nanna was put on this earth to fetch tennis balls (and sticks, and anything else even remotely spherical or made of wood). Some of you gentle readers have even seen Nanna throw herself off of small cliffs in pursuit of limbs, logs and sticks in general. And Springtime, especially post-daylight savings Springtime, means longer hours and more sunlight in which to fetch.

The joyous arrival of Spring, and the fact that it doesn't seem to be going anywhere anytime soon, is not limited to parks and grass and dogs, oh no. The barren skeletons of the ivy that covers The Planning Shop's hallowed walls also revel in this glorious season.



I trust you'll believe me when I tell you that I am wearing all pink today.

Photo Friday: Rest

Yes, I know it's Monday. Thanks.

Max and the Oz were couch bound for the evening. This was in the old apartment, (dang, I miss that red wall) after a long day of driving around with the convertible top down. It's tough being a dog. It's even tougher being a 65 pound lap dog (tough on the lap, that is.).

Suggested caption: "Does my dog's butt look big in this picture?"

Play Ball?

Anyone who reads Rhonda's weekly column (I know you all read Rhonda's weekly column) knows that baseball season has begun. I am not a baseball fan. More than that, I am a hockey fan. I like my spectator sports violent, emotional, full of vendettas, extremely fast-paced, and preferably on ice. I love it when a game comes down to an incredible goalie, a huge defenseman, and couple of crazy-fast forwards with a 2-on-1. I love the home team broadcasters with mandatory Canadian accents. I love Dippin' Dots (it's the ice cream of the future--right now!), power plays, and sudden death over time.

But something strange happened today. Maybe it was the smell of fresh cut grass at the park across the street. Or the sunshine that felt so warm on my shoulders. Heck, maybe was watching that Yankees outfielder almost beat the crap out of the Boston fan on TV last night (yeah, it was probably that). But something made me say to myself, "Gee, I'd sure like to go to a ball game soon. I could really go for some garlic fries."

(Of course I realize that this wouldn't have happened if there had been a hockey game to watch at any point in the last year and a half, or if there were any hope of watching a hockey game in the next year and a half. Of course I realize that the void hockey has left in my life, my heart, and my TV viewing schedule cannot be filled by laundry, Hebrew lessons and heavy snacking alone. And no, of course baseball will never fill that void...but it wouldn't hurt to let it sublease the void for a bit.)

Do you have a businesswoman's special?

I'm an important person. I'm a busy professional with an active social life and many obligations, philanthropic and otherwise. I hardly have time to get my powersuit pressed, let alone read a book. Thank goodness for Book-A-Minute! Why, just this morning I read Don Quixote:

Don Quixote: Chivalry demands I destroy that evil thing.

Sancho Panza: No, master. It is something ordinary and harmless.

Don Quixote: (falls down)

THE END

Ah, good times.

Of course, I'm also far too busy to fiddle with things like focus, aperture or light settings when taking photographs along Market Street. Thank heavens for the Holga AFX automatic everything camera!


I demand satisfaction!

Holgariffic

Mmmmmm, art without trying.



Happy birthday, Thomas Jefferson! The big two-six-two. I was going to get you a birthday present, but I couldn't find any liberty or death.

If you want to see an amazing music video, check out Dealership's "All the Kids" video. Great song, great concept, great execution. For another taste of what these kids can do, listen to this melodic gem. Anyone in the San Francisco area who's interested in a little poppy goodness can see them next Tuesday at 12 Galaxies.

Squirrel, must get squirrel...

My dog talks in his sleep. This is nothing new. He has always barked and chased things in his sleep, the consequences of this action are two equally amusing results: the sleep-barking creates this wonderfully muffled "wurf" sound, almost exactly like the sound made by the cartoon dog in an old animated Amazing Stories episode (the episode was called "The Family Dog." At one point, the dog eats too much of the dish at which the family turned up its collective nose--"Tater puffs and cheese whip. Enjoy!"--and can barely move, let alone bark, at the burglars who break in while the family is out getting pizza. "Bur wur wurf!"). The sleep-chasing causes Ozzy's toes to move independently of one another, which is really quite a sight. It's as if he's running on his tippy toes.

Lately, there's a new aspect to Ozzy's sleepy time adventures: sleep-wagging. As he happily chases and barks through his doggie dreams, his tail thumps loudly against the carpet, but without its normal rhythmic quality. Just one or 2 thumps, then the precious "wurf"-ing, then another thump. It's all I can do not to bust out laughing.

I hope he caught whatever it was he was chasing.

Beep beep, yeah

I commute to work. And when I say commute, I mean that my iPod and I are really good friends. I mean that I can sometimes finish Steve Inskeep's sentences for him. I mean that I consider Dana Fields and Joe McConnell from metro traffic to be close, personal friends.



It's about 35 miles from my apartment in Duboce Triangle to The Planning Shop's headquarters in Palo Alto. Depending on traffic and time of day, it takes about 1 hour to go from point A to point B, and about 75 minutes for the return trip. I promise, I'm not complaining. I'm just stating physical facts about distance and time. I love my job, and I love my home. I'm not willing to sacrifice either in order to increase my free time, and I refuse to spend what little free time I have complaining about my lack of free time. Besides, I have a really nice car (save for its obvious flaw) which makes my commute comfortable and safe.

Carpooling is a smart move for many reasons, not the least of which is that we get to use the carpool lane. And what could be better than zipping past all those single riders stuck in gridlock? Good times.

Dusky Goodness

Avondschemering in Dutch.

Skymning in Swedish.

Crepuscolo in Italian.

Abenddämmerung in German.

Erev in Hebrew.

It's my favorite time of day, especially now that we've sprung forward and I can actually enjoy it.


This was the first time I had ever heard M. Ward. The song felt so much like dusk, just after the storm and before the next storm rolls in, perfectly twilight. Falling in love with music is such a hard thing to share, hard to properly explain.

New cameras! The medium format Holga and the less sophisticated Holga AFX, both birthday gifts from Max, just arrived. I can barely type, I'm shaking with excitement! I'm going to guess the learning curve will be, er, curvy, so it may take me a while to get some shots up here. But get them up here I will.

This one's dedicated

Congratulations, Patty! I thank you, Cecil B. Da Couch thanks you, and the OCD-inspired order of my home thanks you. You should be receiving the first part of your prize, a small token of my appreciation, in approximately 4-6 weeks. For the second part of your prize, you requested the song "Mahna Mahna," dedicated to your friend and mine, Brian P. Luce (remember, the "L" is silent.). Because you did not specify which version of "Mahna Mahna" you want, I chose the version which I felt was most befitting Brian's personality.

Click here to enjoy your prize!

If you're happy and you know it

This one goes out to M. who says:

"I like songs with stomping and clapping in them."

Thirst for knowledge

For the past 2 months, I've been taking Hebrew lessons with my mom at the local JCC. Being in a classroom environment has reminded me that sometimes, I actually enjoy learning. My desire to learn is entirely equal my my lack of attention, hence my NPR-style skill set (I know how to do a little bit of a lot of things.). I can kind of play the accordion, I kind of know how to perform trampoline movements (stop laughing--it's not as easy as it sounds. There's a scientific method and physioligical know-how involved. I'm telling you, I took 2 quarters of trampoline in college. I said stop laughing.), I can knit, kind of...the list goes on.

But this time, I found the lessons that will keep my attention nice and focused: ventriloquism in a month! See, it's the combined promise of learning something in a month, and learning something that will so totally impress my friends at parties.

And if it doesn't impress them, I obviously need new friends.

I've got a flaming heart

Check me, like, totally out!



Things that are making me especially happy today:

1. mermaids (the mythical sea creatures, not the movie)
2. my new hair color
3. eggplant
4. anything grass green in color, especially when combined with anything turquoise or aqua
5. mail-order shopping
6. apple juice

Congratulations to Patty! The new sofa is named Cecil B. Da Couch. Patty's prize will be delivered via Luce (the "L" is silent) Delivery Corporation. You may submit your song request and dedication informaiton via the comment form, or via Luce (the "U" is silent, too) Delivery Corporation. Great job, Patty!

Photo Friday: Hot

Photo Friday's theme is "Hot."

Sofatastic

Let me once again sing the praises of the new sofa. As the weekend draws ever nearer, I can almost feel the soft, supple chenille, and almost see my impending diet cola nestled in its smooth plastic cup holder... The Sofa needs a name. I don't normally name my furniture and household items--no, that's a total lie, as Stan the toaster oven and Peter Pot Belly the fireplace will be the first to tell you. Please enter your submissions via the comment form, and if your submission is chosen, you'll receive a small token of my affection. Plus, I'll post a song that you can dedicate to someone. It's a win-win situation.

Here now are photos of the sofa being born unto my living room.





Behold the sofatacity!

Gimme an M!

It's funny stuff, this Google April Fools' Day tradition. And it's healthy, if not imperative, to be able to laugh at yourself. Heck, I laugh at yourself all the time. Aaaaaaaaaaalllllllll the time.

Is it a testament to my love of marquis, or to M's position as the ultimate show date?



Is it a testement to my love of dingy little bodegas, or to M's position as the ultimate show date?



Hooray for M and her ability to open herself up to new music, like going to see M. Ward with me, and hopefully the Fiery Furnaces and Q and Not U. Hooray for M and her ability to force me to tone down my critical judgmentality and my general dislike of people in order to go see new music like Jolie Holland. We'll just not mention Coco Rosie or Antony and the Johnsons.



Indeed, hooray for M.

Here Comes The Sun, Little Darlin'

Everyone Plays

Last weekend, while simultaneously reclining and knitting, I watched The Bad News Bears on HBO. Boy, what a trip down memory lane. Sure, I was born the same year the film came out, and I don't think I ever actually saw it before Saturday. And sure, I wasn't a little leaguer (it was all about AYSO for me). But everything that wasn't plot-specific reminded me SO MUCH of my childhood (except for the racist 11-year-olds and the anti-semetic coach.). I'm pretty sure it was filmed in Southern California, but it could just as easily have been the non-descript, San Francisco Bay Area suburb in which I grew up. The ball fields, the snack shack, the banana seat bikes, the oh-so-1976 clothing (think very wide lapels and lots of plaid--not the good kind of plaid), the arcade, everything. It felt really good to watch and has left me with a lingering but definable feeling of nostalgia. More so than usual.

I think the only Bad News Bears movie I ever saw as a kid was The Bad News Bears Go To Japan. Brilliant stuff, even without drunken Walter Matthau.

And now I hear they're re-making the original movie? With Billy Bob Thornton as Buttermaker??? Hmmmmm.

He only drinks when he's sad.

Mmmmmmm, lunch. For your post-lunch viewing pleasure:



This is me enjoying the heck out of the M. Ward show last week.



Now, I'm not saying that I had too many beers, but this is pretty much how O'Farrell Street looked after the show.

Super sofa

As you can see, the kitties enjoy the new sofa. Pillowy arm rests and heated cushions make for feline happiness and marathon napping sessions.



It's funny because these two don't really get along all that well. You'd be hard pressed to find them napping in the same room, let alone on the same piece of furniture. This sofa brings out the best in all of us.

When I wasn't busy reclining this weekend (and even when I was), I was hard at work knitting (drum roll please) completed project #2: Arm Warmers!



Complete with ribbing on each end, and super professional tapering through the wrist, these lovely tubes 'o yarn will keep my arms and hands warm until summer quits slacking and finally get here. And they're functional too! The lack of finger tubes and the generously-sized thumb holes make everyday tasks like typing and channel surfing a breeze!



Many thanks to the D.I. Your Own Damn Self section of jejune.net for the inspiration.

When Fashion Attacks

I want one of those puffy down vests. The most recent incarnation of the puffy down vest was one of the many fashion trends to which I didn't catch on until about two years later and the article of clothing, or the color, or whatever, is much harder to find than in was when Target was selling it. Like the super super pointy-toed shoes. And hot pink highlights. And now the puffy down vest.

Fed up with eBay's outrageous puffy down vest prices, I turned to ye olde Craig's List, typed "down vest" in the search box, and got this:

I too seek someone who has stolen a car

Hi all

I and a few choice friends are planning on an interstate crime wave and need a getaway rig banks being tight as they are these days we planned on hitting casinos (they always have such nice buffets) with spring just around the corner I thought a convertible would be nice air conditioning a plus, perhaps in black as we're working on our gangster image also we'll be in need of some gats (prefer automatics) perhaps some of those nifty teflon tipped hot loads, ya know the ones that slip right through a bullet proof vest

can't wait to hear from you

I just wanted a warm torso and compfortably cool arms.

Welcome home, my pet

Oh, happy day! It's back! My lovely little laptop is back where it belongs--squarely in my possession. It was a lo-o-o-o-o-o-ong two weeks. Outfitted with a new power board, my shiny little plastic friend has been returned.

Oh, happy day for other reasons as well! Like manna from heaven, a sofa full of beauty has befallen upon me and graced my living room with comforty goodness. The furniture whence Max has begotten now adorns our humble abode and has settled ever so nicely into its rightly occupation: giant cat bed. I did see a wee black kitty climb out from underneath the sofa yesterday afternoon, having woken from a nice sleep, and it gave me pause: certainly the inner-workings of a recliner contain metal pieces and springs which are capable of lopping the head off of a wee black kitty, like so much a zucchini? O, cruel fate why have you cursed me with the sofa of divine comfort and ass-warming, a sofa which also yearns to decapitate my feline companion? Fie, I will choose if I must; the sofa stays.

These are a few of my favorite things

I have recently discovered that there are some things that I absolutely need. I'm not talking about food, shelter and clothing, I'm talking about wall-mounted goldfish pods and subversive cross stitch. Turbo-boosted pogo sticks. Stuff like that.

And, of course, photo paint-by-numbers. I mean, come on. I need many of these.

I would like to officially thank www.mightygoods.com for being the best shopping blog to which I have ever been addicted.

Happy. Birthday. Captain. Kirk.

Finally, I can play Has Been here in the office again and no one can stop me. It's been far too long. Let. Us. Celebrate. The. Birthday. Of. The. Shat. While. Reveling. In. His. Lyrical. Genius.

I feel it necessary that I apologize for laying the smack down on my mom yesterday on this very blog. She did nothing wrong by disposing of all those My Little Ponies, and probably even asked me first. I'm sure that the teenage recluse that I was at the time answered with a sneer-laced "Whatever," and that some very happy 10 year old began her very own love affair with those plastic horses...

And the seasons, they go round and round. And the painted ponies go up and down. We're captive on a carousel of time. We can't go back, we can only look behind from where we came, and go round and round and round in the circle game.

We can thank four years of summer camp in the Santa Cruz mountains for that little gem!



I. Love. My. Mother.

Crazy Mixed-Up World

We all know that some things that are fantastic on their own, and become even better when combined with other fantastic things to make one uber fantastic thing. Chocolate and cheese (or chocolate and peanut butter for you conventional types). Pizza and french fries. Jay Z and the Beatles (in some circles). This list goes on and on, and contains mostly food items.

From when I was about 8 till I was about 11, I loved, LOVED My Little Ponies. We're talking every cent of my allowance, every holiday that could possibly warrant a gift, involved ponies and pony outfits, pony accessories, pony playsets--to an extent, it probably got a bit out of hand. Lord I loved those ponies. Long ago, my mom re-appropriated those ponies to a needy, age-appropriate child, and someday I'll forgive her for that. But as an adult, when I first discovered e-Bay, I immediately bid on Moondancer--she was my favorite back in the day, a Chanukah gift in 1984 (I can still feel the joyful tremors when I think about opening that present...)--who now sits proudly among my snowglobes, protecting, monitoring, moon-dancing.

When I was in high school, I began to love Quentin Tarrantino movies. Not with the same ferocity that I had previously loved the ponies with the painted rear ends, but his films were my introduction into independent movies and films that addressed ideas and topics other that how to get a date and how to kill dinosaurs (also my introduction to Uma Thurman.). I loved the concept that non-mainstream ideas were available for not-quite-mass-consumption, but you could find them if you knew where to look for them (read, if you were cool. Like me. I was cool.).

This is, however, one case where the joining of 2 fantastic things does not exponentially increase the fantasticness. In fact, I am appalled:



Just say No to the Uma Thurman Kill Bill My Little Pony.

Lounge-o-matic update

For those of you who are just bursting with anticipation to hear about the new sofa, keep waiting. Delivery has been pushed back to Thursday. Upon learning this, many expletives rushed forward from my mouth. Many expletives.

It's OK--it's part of a balanced breakfast

Don't let anyone tell you I'm not a festive person. I began celebrating St. Patrick's Day at 6:30 am with a generous bowl of Lucky Charms--but not just any Lucky Charms. New CHOCOLATE Lucky Charms . Chocolate! I fell for that gimmick, hook, line, and sinker. But the marshmallows were all weird. If I remember correctly, an I believe I do, Lucky Charms always had marshmallows shaped like pink hearts, orange stars, yellow moons, green clovers, and blue diamonds. I watch enough cartoons to have seen the commercials for new marshmallows over the years; I'm fully aware of purple horseshoes and even red balloons. But these Chocolate Lucky Charms had none of the above mentioned original marshmallow shapes, save for a bastardized green clover (it was some weird sort of multi-colored, clover-inside-a-clover deal). No pink hearts (although there were pink lumps of some sort. Maybe they were supposed to be hearts. I don't know.). No orange stars. No yellow moons. No blue diamonds. I was, and am, thoroughly disappointed. I'll have to do some scientific research to see if this marshmallow epidemic has infiltrated regular lucky charms as well.

I don't even like the marshmallows in marshmallow cereals. The have the consistency of chalk when I bite on them, so I suck all of the sugary goodness out of them instead. But I couldn't resist the chocolate factor, and, well, it is St. Patrick's Day. Normally, when I need to satisfy my need for sugary cereal, I go straight for the Cocoa Puffs. I am, one could say, coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs.

Of course, these cereals were never allowed in our home when I was a child. My mom's favorite rule: "If one of the first three ingredients is sugar, you can't have it." She might as well have said we couldn't have it if one of the first three ingredients was "fun." Thank goodness for Cheerios. But my mom totally put her money where her mouth was, and regularly ground up fresh walnuts and mixed them with honey to put on our cereal, and voila: home made honey-nut Cheerios. Let's see that stupid cartoon bee do that.

Hit my car, please.

Last night I was rear-ended. Again. This is the thrid time in two years that I have been hit, and at this rate, I'll soon be able to make a CD of the songs that were playing on my stereo each time I've been hit in this car.

The first time, April 2003: "Ramblin' Boy" by Kinky Friedman.
The second time, October 2004: "It's All Right to Cry" by Rosie Grier.
The third time, March 2005: "Hoist That Rag" by Tom Waits.

From the looks of it, it's going to be a pretty good CD!

Oddly, and fortunately, it appears that little to no damage was done to my car or to my person. And it's no wonder I continually get rear-ended:



Thankfully, the dogs were at home with Max. I was picking my folks up at the airport and the dogs wanted to stay home and help Max play Rocky on the X-Box. They're good helper dogs.

Where can I get an after-market sun roof for my sofa?

The bad news: the dang sofa wouldn't fit through our apparently terribly narrow stairway up to the living room (or, as I call it, room of loaf.). So the super duper reclining sofa had to be returned. Sunday morning around 11, I was NOT loving it at Levitz. And Levitz can't stand to be unloved, so it got on its knees and begged for one more chance to make everything right.

And I have given it that chance.

The sofa that is supposed to be delivered this Sunday is the Escalade of sofas. Dual recliner? Well, duh. Triple-thick royal blue chenille? Aw, yeah. Remote controlled dual massage? Rolling and shiatsu. Ass-warmers? You betcha. I'm not fooling--the thing's got cup holders and storage consoles. I'm going to embroider racing stripes on it. And this one comes apart into three stairway-compatible pieces.

Unless Levitz screws this one up, too, pictures will be available next week. Please try to contain your excitement.

Hey! Ho! Let's Go!

Let me just say, hooray for the Ramones. Thier lightning-quick beat, 3-chord melodies and barely intelligible lyrics make me so excited about everything, I just want to jump up and down. The weather is GORGEOUS, our new sofa is being delivered this weekend (our new greenish-grey, dual-reclining sofa, mind you), and hey, it's Friday. You just can't beat that. Friday feels nice.

I wore these earrings today in honor of M. who is into dangly earrings these days.

"You want me to put my hand where?!"

I've decided I'm going to start doing that super cool blogger thing where instead of saying people's names, I'll just use their first initials. Because the people I know are so important that their privacy could be destroyed by being mentioned by name on my uber popular blog. Right. To be sure, I probably shouldn't have mentioned M.'s first, middle and last names on my post the other day (heh heh, oops. sorry 'bout that, M.). But then again, I suppose I do a lot of stuff I shouldn't do, and on a surprisingly regular basis, too ( I own 2 ponchos purchased within the last 12 months...and Max warned me about both of them.).

But there's one person who doesn't need to be cloaked by a dumb initial shield-my Mom! Neat how that worked out. Well, she sends me all kinds of emails, but this has to be the crowning jewel of the bunch.



I love my Mom.

Is my inner child having fun yet?

It seems strange to me that an obscure icon of my childhood is anything more than that. I'm not talking about commercially advocated and mass-produced toys or images or pop culture. As far as I'm concerned, My Little Pony, Hyper-Colors T-shirts, and Strawberry Shortcake cereal belong to everybody (especially now that many of us have kids of our own, and the toys of our youth have made quite a come back... but that's a different story entirely.). When some random combination of sights and sounds forms a memorable blip in my emotional and social development, it usually ends up being a fairly personal and introspective affair. Example: when I was a kid (young enough--and lucky enough--to have no real concept of global affairs outside of general poverty and historical wars), the US government held the Iran-Contra hearings. "Iran" and "Contra" were words I would only hear on the car radio when my devoted mother was driving the carpool, or driving me to Hebrew school, or soccer practice, or the orthodontist, or piano lessons...you get the idea. But I would also hear "Contra" on the car radio in the context of Contra-Costa County (a county in the East San Francisco Bay Area, as in "Traffic is moving slowly in Contra-Costa County as you make you way toward the Bay Bridge...I'm John McIntyre in the KGO skycopter--traffic and weather together every ten minutes on the eights."). Slowly but surely, my juvenile brain melded these two contra terms together, and before I knew what was happening, I was convinced that some sort of guerilla-terrorist-hijackers from the east bay were coming to kill us all.

But the thing that's getting me today is the Western Exterminator logo. There's a Western Exterminator building in Burlingame off of highway 101, and it has this huge cartoon-ish statue on top of a man staring down rat, and the man is holding a large mallet behind his back. In my young mind, not yet corrupted by marketing and advertising, I would gleefully exclaim "Popeye!" every time we drove by the building.



Apparently, to me, every cartoon man was Popeye. I know, I know, I was absolutely precious. The disturbing part is this: Popeye does not belong to me--far from it. He has a web page explaining his history, he was a mascot for a Van Halen tour, he even appeared in a Zippy the Pinhead strip (which is actually pretty neat). I know it's not as if some rebel fighters in in South America started calling themselves the Iran-Contra-Costas, but it makes the connection I've had with Popeye all these years a bit less intimate than it had been. Fortunately, I drive right by Popeye twice a day, five days a week. It shouldn't take long for us to rekindle our special bond, the kind of bond that only exist between a girl and her giant advertising statue.

This space for rent.

Today's post is brought to you by the letters M, E and H. No, not "meh," but Miriam Elizabeth Hanes (figure 1.), who requested this song. Miriam, I am going to strat charging you blog rent.


figure 1.

I boldly go places.

I'm feeling rather hopeful today. It must be the spring-like weather we had over the weekend. That, combined with learning new skills (knitting, touch-typing, and Hebrew classes) make me feel optimistic about my ability to adapt to our changing environment. This is an incredibly important ability, especially because I am, like, so getting old. Yesterday, I got so fed up with the loud and ridiculous "music" that was being blared in the hip n' cool section of Macy's that I had to leave--without purchasing anything. And when Max and I were at Safeway buying cheese and German beer to make Rachel Ray's 30 minute Cheese and German Beer Fondue, the cashier asked for Max's ID, while he said to me,"I don't need to see yours. You're old enough."

But I'm not bothered. Because I can adapt to my changing environment, as evidenced by my newly acquired knitting, touch-typing, and Hebrew-speaking skills.

Here's me looking optimistic:

Can I get a "whoop whoop"

My precious, precious hound dog Nanna is going to be fine. Her lumpy leg has turned out to be a pretty bad gracillis (thigh) muscle injury, from which she will soon make a full recovery. She gets to keep all of her legs, and she gets to start fetching that tennis ball again real soon. So let's give a collective "whoop whoop" for my girl, and throw in a couple of those Arsineo Hall arm-cranking maneuvers for good measure.

Special Delivery

This song is especially for Miriam. Cause she asked. Nicely.

Sea Ranch, underneath the water. Sea Ranch, at the bottom of the sea.

I just got my Lomo pictures back from the weekend before Valentine's Day which we spent at the Sea Ranch (known historically as the weekend Ozzy walked by at least three piles of horse poop and DIDN'T roll in any of them. He's a darn good dog.). It really seems like ages ago; so many things have happened since then. Not the least of which is my newly acquired knitting expretise.



The moody weather made for excellent Uno-playing opportunities. And what's more fun than a brightly colored card game where your boyfriend and your dad can conspire to cheat just so the game will end and they can go about their business? I can't say as I blame them--it was a rather long game of Uno. And everyone knew it was only a matter of time before I decimated them with my mad Uno skills.

And I dance, dance, dance...

Loopy Loo and the Lurid Lump

Nanna had biopsy number 2 yesterday. There's this imposing lump in her left thigh and we're trying to figure out whether it's an old muscle injury, or... well, something scarier than an old muscle injury. It's a long and involved process, full of specialists and words I can't readily pronounce (it's "gracillis" muscle, not "grazelda" muscle). But an entertaining side effect is watching poor Nanna when she's all hopped up on anesthetic. Just look at those eyes.



When she's in this state, it becomes imperative that we call her "Loopy Loo."

If your dog or cat ever needs a specialist, the good folks at San Francisco Veterinary Specialists are terrific. Warm staff, extremely knowledgeable and skilled in the ways of all things animal.

(Yes, I'm terribly concerned. No, I'm not going to panic until the pathology report comes back.)

Gimme Five

I'm going to see a band called OK Go this weekend at little club near my apartment. I've seen them twice before; once before they were more-or-less famous, and once right during or maybe just after they were more-or-less famous. By more-or-less famous, I mean that they had a major label release (it rocks, I tell you), and that I once saw one of their videos playing on the dozens of display TV's in the electronics department of Target. But now they seem to have faded back into the kind of relative and proper obscurity which allows real fans (me, of course) to see them play at little clubs near their apartments.

Anyway, the band recently acquired a new guitarist. And they convinced him to keep a tour blog. He has reported on everything form the bratwurst at the Milwaukee airport to a mighty fine bowl of borscht he had in Columbia, MO. But this is the very best. OK Go's new guitarist, Andy "Rusty" Ross, explains the hip new handshake all the Midwestern kids are doing:

"It's called the 'explode-implode.' Here's how you pull it off:

1. Both hi-fivers start with a closed fist.
2. Bang the fists together and immediately pull away while opening your hand (making an explosion sound at this point is highly advisable).
3. Once you've fully retracted you should be in perfect position to go in for a normal hi-five.
4. Complete the hi-five, but immediately pull back and re-close your fist (again, a sound effect is preferred, this time making a 'shhhhhhmmmp' to simulate the implosion of your hand and proper end to your greeting).

It may take practice, but it's delicious."

Thanks, Rusty! I'm looking forward to heckling you Saturday night.