It's not a pedicure in a taxi

Rhonda and I rode home from Camden Yards last night in a pedicab!



This guy was so fast. Yes, we raced the pedicab next to us, which was also carrying ASBDC conference attendees. Yes, we beat them. Yes, we totally rock.



We even had a Baltimore Police car pull up beside and tell the biker to slow down. The biker didn't seem to agree with the policeman's suggestion. Rhonda and I were too busy taking pictures of the scenery to be scared.



I have a feeling that if I'm ever rich and eccentric, I will have a full-time pedicab in my employ. Or two. Of course, I'd have to train the dogs to ride in the cab with me.

Sweatin' To The Oldies

That's right, friends and well wishers, I am officially super cool. Not only did Rhonda and I fly first class from Dallas to Baltimore, we met Richard Simmons in the lounge at the Dallas airport! And he put my hand on his tush! Seriously! Look!



And here's me in first class, full from a tasty supper and free beer, comfy in my huge leather seat, watching "Kicking and Screaming" with Will Farrel. Talk about first class. (Keep in mind that between driving home from Montana, flying home from Portland, and flying to Baltimore, I had been traveling for nearly 48 hours at this point. I've looked better.)



But it's not all first class and hyperactive fitness gurus. Mostly, but not all. There's also work. Really! Allow Rhonda to demonstrate:



And speaking of work, I've got to go do some more of that. Join us next time for pictures of our trip to Camden Yards last night to see the Orioles play, and our thrilling ride home in a pedicab! Seriously!

Baltimore is full of crabs

Chicken??? And Lounge??????

Tico from Missoula!

No more halitosis germ

Faaaaat caaaaat

You won't have Deborah to kick around anymore...well, not until September 10th anyway.

Just a heads up that I'll be on vacation as of Thursday. That's right, the afore-mentioned trip to Montana (also known as DediFest 2005 the Sequel) is fast approaching. Immediately upon my return home form Big Sky Country, I'll be leaving for Baltimore to attend the ASBDC conference with Rhonda (We're gonna get crabs in Baltimore! Ha, that kills me.). So blogging, while still theoretically possible, will be rare if existent for the next two weeks.

Except, of course, for MoBlog. All hope is not lost.

I've been feeling a bit crochety lately...

Check me OUT! Miriam and I have been taking a crochet class at Imagiknit for the past 2 Wednesdays. That's right--who's your granny?



See, it's a granny square. And If I make enough of 'em, I'll have an afghan! Or, apparently, a belt, or a bag, or a bikini (shudder). I'm aiming for afghan. Here's a close up of the purple, pink, and neon orange beauty that is my first completed granny square:



Added bonus: there's this awesome lady in my class who makes smelly soap and lotions (yes, you can buy them from her!), and she also makes knitting bags out of vintage fabric. These she does not sell on her website yet, but I lucked out by snagging this beautiful yellow one from her at class this week:



Soon, it will be literally filled to the brim with granny squares. You'll see.

Does Apple have a catnip-scented iPod yet?

Over the weekend I rediscovered a beach that I used to go to in college. I didn't actually go to the beach, but I found the street that leads to the beach, and that's what had been evading me for so long. It's this beach with wonderful pebbles and shells, and great driftwood for fetching (for Nanna, not me). Plus, it's right next to some sort of marine preserve place that has these beautiful, foggy groves of coastal trees. Maybe juniper? I don't know what kind, but I'll find out. They're absolutely gorgeous. I haven't been there in 9 years or so, but now that I found the street I'll be stopping by real soon.

After all, I've got more free time on my hands than I'm used to. My best friend and cohort for just about everything won't be around for a while, so I'll be picture-taking, artsy-craftsy project finishing, and generally doing things with yarn more than usual. And that makes Milhouse happy!

Speaking of Milhouse, did I ever post the picture from when Milhouse wanted to be a male model? If so, I apologize, because here it is again:



Poor kid. Apple never even returned his calls.

I Like My Meat Like My Men: Grilled and on a Sword.

In honor of APV's birthday last night, a bunch of us went out for Brazilian BBQ. Have you even had Brazilian BBQ? No? Well let me tell you, there's nothing like having a guy with a sword full of meat come up to you every three and a half minutes to offer you food. Nothing. In fact, for my next birthday, I would like everyone to pitch in and hire a guy to following me around all day with a sword full of grilled meats.

You think I'm joking?

To celebrate the birthday factor, a pasty guy in a blue oxford shirt came out from the back of the restaurant and blew a horn (looked to me like an elaborate shofar):



It's common knowledge that Adam blows. So it was no surprise when he persuaded Mr. Pasty Hornblower to fork over the horn.



What was surprising, however, was just how much Kevin Punzalanski loves cake!



Who knew! Not me. I do know how to shop for birthday gifts though. Check this bad boy out.

I'll end this with my first Photo Friday entry in a while: One.

Happy Bloggiversary!

A great big cheer for one whole year! My oh my, how the time does fly. It seems like just yesterday I posted my first blog entry. That was a whole entire year ago! Pretty soon my blog will be eating solid foods and asking to borrow the car keys.



I love my blog.

Here's a look at some of the highlights of Deborah's Den--Year One:

Ozzy's Root Canal

The Election (AKA That of Which We Shall Not Speak)

Michael Fau Loved Hats

Remembering Those Good 'Ol Days

The Mickey Rooney Rock

That One Time I Got A Bunch Of Page Views

The Rear-End Chronicles

The Infamous Chocolate & Cheese Post

How Do I Love My Blog? Let Me Count The Ways.

Are They Not Dogs?

Honestly, I love this blog. I love that my colleagues, friends, family, and complete strangers stop by every so often to see what's going on...and like a gruesome car crash, they can't turn away. I love that my pets have become celebrities in my own little world. It's a place where the things I find funny or interesting are the chosen topics of conversation (or rambling monologue). I don't mean to sound purely egotistical, but what is a blog (at least this type of blog) if not an extension of the blogger's ego? And hey, my ego's a pretty nice place to hang out every so often. Sometimes, there's donuts.

Although I openly admit that I can still only knit a straight, plain, single-colored scarf, I am now more inspired than ever to get off my kiester and learn how to read a dang pattern:



(Thanks, weasel, for linking to You Knit What???

Tonight I'll be going in the right direction but on the wrong track as I start a mini, three-week crochet class with Mir. Can one crochet poultry-themed headwear? I sure hope so!

If anyone out there is as obsessed with Paige Michalchuk as I've become lately, you'll enjoy this quiz: How Paige Are You? She totally goes there. Me? Apparently, I'm the Anti-Paige. Not a bad thing, although I wouldn't mind having a little more of the Paige Michalchuk ruthlessness. Ruthless like a fox.

Paige won't be there (boo), but Marco and Hazel will be appearing at Stonestown Shopping Center in SF this Saturday as part of the Degrassi Mall Tour. I'll be there--come on, it's a mall tour. And for the record, I realize that Marco and Hazel won't actually be there, the actors who play Marco and Hazel will be there. Jeez, I don't live in a complete fantasy world. Sheesh.

A big, hot, steaming cup of Perry Como

Till the wells run dry and each mountain disappears
I'll be there for you to care for you through laughter and through tears
So take my heart in sweet surrender and tenderly say that I'm
The one you love and live for till the end of time

I swear to you, if coffee could sing, this is what it would have sung to me this morning. It was one of those mornings where I resembled Hans Moleman a little more than I would care to admit--all squnity-eyed and puckered, but minus the football.

Terror struck when I went into the kitchen at the office to pour that first, dark, kick-you-right-in-the-behind-cup and the coffee pot was (sob) broken. I let out a mournful "Nooooooo!" and collapsed, trembling on the kitchen floor. After about 5 minutes of knee-licking by my trusty knee-licker, Nanna, I regained my composure, stood up, and noticed that the coffee pot had merely become unplugged when I fiddled with the toaster oven while toasting my bagel. I plugged the coffee pot back in, and enjoyed a cup of fresh, hot coffee five minutes later.

I can be such a drama queen.

If I Were A Richman

We had a lovely weekend in Minneapolis. Better than lovely: 52+ hours filled with good friends, BBQ, The Mall of America, salt water taffy, Balderdash (I won twice!), and the cutest little baby girl I ever did see.



Honestly, she's the sweetest little morsel this side of the Mississippi. Or that side (there were a number of trips over the river and back). I am so in love! And it looks like I'm not the only one.



It's great--she's already 4 months old and still has that new baby smell.

More Gopher, Please

We're off to Minneapolis tomorrow to visit the lovely and talented IJR family, complete with the new addition: a squiggly, giggly, 4 month old baby girl. And from what I can tell, the weather seems to be slightly different than it was the last time I visited. And thank goodness for that. It's the perfect weather for watching babies do baby things and spending many hours at the Mall of America.

Mmmmmmmm......Mall of America.....

KDEB Request line

This one's for beeb, representin' the east side of Burlingame.

I have arrived. Or, at least my cats have. Or, at least their poop has.

That's right, last night I joined the ranks of lazy Americans who surpassed their previous levels of laziness by purchasing the Littermaid self-cleaning litterbox. No, it's simply too much work for me to scoop, bag and toss the traditional variety of clumping cat litter. I need a machine specifically designed to scoop my cats' business for me.

Worth every penny. EVERY PENNY.

(Like) New Computer

I've spent the past few days reformatting my C drive and generally making my computer run faster. And then I had to re-install all of my software programs. The I had to reinstall my wireless connection thingie that I accidentally uninstalled. Hmmm. So you see, it's really not my fault that I haven't blogged yet this week.

Saturday night I went to see Wicked with Rhonda and crew. Best. Musical. Ever. I'm pretty sure that the theater critic from the San Jose Mercury News, and theater critics in general, are either on sensory-blocking drugs or just plain mean. The review in today's paper was horrible, off the mark completely, and just plain wrong. I was angry for many minutes after reading it. Besides, I think I have a girl-crush on Elpheba. How dare that theater critic refer to her as a "giggly teenage girl"!? Ridiculous.

Got a new camera, so once I'm not too busy to shoot fun, action-filled panoramic 4-frames-in-2-seconds pictures, I will shoot them indeed and post them here. Stay tuned!

Just dog

No more Frankendog! Nanna's staples came out today:



The good Dr. Roosein was very impressed with Nanna's cowering abilities. We all were.

Going to the vet reminds me of the "Fortunately/Unfortunately" books we used to read in grade school. "Unfortunately, Nanna had to go to the vet. Fortunately, the vet is across the street from the best sandwiches in the world and Miriam's office." Hugs were exchanged. Turkey sandwiches were consumed.



That is one happy dog in the sun!

Another reason to be happy

Today a woman has come to our office to bathe our dogs.

To bathe our dogs.

Mobile dog grooming is a beautiful thing. I mean, really beautiful.

I used to wash my dogs, no problem. We'd hop into the tub together and there would be special smelly doggie shampoo and special doggie bath towels. And one hell of a messy bathroom when all was said and done, but well worth it when you share your bed with 2 60+ pound dogs.

Then I lived in an apartment with poor drainage (and a fairly water bill-conscious landlord) where dog washing in the tub was a no-no. So I got used to paying someone to wash the beasts for me. It's a real luxury, to be sure, but nothing says "clean" like dogs who smell like strippers.

But it's impossible to get them done on weekdays, and with limited weekend hours I found the time between baths growing longer and longer...and longer. So when Rhonda mentioned that her groomer now has a mobile unit, The Soggy Doggy, we simply had to try it out. Besides, Nanna had begun to smell not unlike an old shoe.

Now there are some super clean dogs in this office. And clean dogs are frisky dogs!



Just look at them run around the office in frantic, expanding circles. Can you smell the clean? OK, granted, it still smells kind of like wet dog, which is the opposite smell of clean. But the promise of clean-smelling dogs has it's own aroma.

A typical morning at The Planning Shop

(editor's note: Due to the size of the file, it was taking forever load my blog. Now you can just click here to see what I'm talking about.)

And thank goodness for that!

You win some, you lose some

It's definitely a day of mixed emotions. First off, it's a Monday, traditional day of dread and ugh for school children and worker bees alike. For those of use who tend to lean toward the blind optimism side of the scale, the dread gets mixed with a generous helping of "Hooray! It's a brand new week and anything is possible!" which leads to a general attitude of confusion-induced crankiness.

Second, it's Rhonda and Arthur's birthdays, so there is joyous celebration and cake! Two of the things that make me happy. And a third thing that makes me happy: Vietnamese food, including crab and avocado summer rolls. And thanks to Mireille's recent trip to Toronto, these birthdays also mean maple-cream filled chocolates shaped like maple leaves (or leafs, if you dig the hockey).



It is also Alex's first day at the office, our new friend and colleague, and new friends and colleagues are always worth celebrating.

The mixed part of the emotions comes from learning that an old friend of mine passed away over the weekend. I don't want to dwell on the sadness, but I do want to say that he was very nice to my dog, very nice to my friend, and was a very nice person with a nice family; inviting, welcoming, and with large hearts.

Blog Business Summit

Today on Blogger's dashboard, there's a blurb about the 2005 Blog Business Summit. Technically, I blog for my business. Technically. In theory, this blog will accomplish 2 things:

1. Allow me to blow off steam, express my personality, etc. therefore making me a happier, more productive person and employee.

2. Give our readers and instructors a peek into the day-to-day life of The Planning Shop, and show them that underneath our crunchy, entrepreneurial publishing shell, our company has a creamy human center.

In practice, this blog is a place where I can talk about my dogs, my vacations and random things that make me feel less crazy. So I don't feel compelled to attend the Blog Business Summit, nor should I. Still when I checked out the site and list of speakers, I found that out of 17 speakers, all but 3 of them were Caucasian males. Which is disturbing because most of the successful business people I know, as well as the best bloggers, are women. Chicks. I'm not sure why I'm not as indignant about the lack of ethnic diversity among the speakers, but I can always take time out of my busy day to whine about feminist issues. The funny part is that I don't even believe in many feminist concepts, rather I believe in peoples' rights to be upset about them. Concepts like the glass ceiling, women's equality in the military, the stay at home mom vs. the career mom, gender identities and sexual orientation in the media--all that stuff. It's a person's right to get pissy about the way women tend to be objectified, victimized, pigeon-holed and what not. Yet in my everyday existence most of this stuff just doesn't bother me. Much of the treatment that many feminists would consider misogynistic or controlling I find to be desirable and welcomed. I'm not saying that I'd like to be kept barefoot and pregnant, or banned from the boardroom. And goodness knows that I'd damn well better get equal pay for equal work, but I also like to have doors opened for me, meals paid for, spiders squashed, light bulbs changed--not because I can't do these things, but because I don't have to. Or something. I like to think of it as post-post-feminism. I also like to think of it as having my cake and eating it too. And who doesn't like cake?

Why I Can Never Carpool With Johnny Cash

About 2 1/2 years ago, I got this really nice new Subaru Outback. It's a station wagon, complete with a little barrier-gate thing to keep the dogs in the way back. For 2 1/2 years, I got out of the car without dog hair on my clothes. For 2 1/2 years, I drank coffee without dog hair in while I drove to work. For 2 1/2 years, I had room for my purse, sweaters, accoutrements etc. in my car in addition to myself.

Two weeks ago, that all changed.

After I was rear-ended last Fall, Nanna grew increasingly terrified of my car (just my car, as opposed to cars in general). Thusly, she grew increasingly mopey and depressed, each day becoming more and more like a teenaged girl. But I was steadfast in my conviction to keep the front of the car fur-free.

I am steadfast in my convictions no longer.

Sure, I fastened a nice blue flannel sheet over the interior of the back two-thirds of the car to act as a fur magnet. But Ozzy is the kind of dog who protects his car by sitting upright in the driver's seat, as if to say, "No, potential car thief, you cannot steal this car, for I am a human and I am about to drive my car off to safety. Any minute now." Fur magnet, schmur magnet.

Yet, am I thrilled to be reunited with joys of a car open to dogs. Like catching glimpses of dog head and dog tongue in my rear mirrors as they hang their heads out the back windows. Or like this morning when Ozzy decided he wanted to sit up front with me. He can make himself just as small as he needs to if it means fitting on various types of furniture.

Misty Water Colored Memories

Ah, good times. The great DediFest of 2005 continues this September with a mini-roadtrip from Portland to Missoula (also known as, "Wow, the sky really IS big!"). We'll be visiting our old college roommate who used to go on and on about this really tasty sandwich place in Missoula called the Staggering Ox. Strange the things we remember about people when we haven't talked in 6 years.









Other things that fit into this category:

Scuba diving

Crazy knick knacks sent by her grandma at each and every holiday (like the miniature Easter Egg Tree)

The eucalyptus branch we collected on a road trip that she dried and hung on her wall and weeks later it ended up housing a bunch of bugs (I may be partially imagining this one)

An awful lot of giggling and cooking tasty things

Frankendog update: Nanna is doing really well. I would, however, like to get my hands on a constant supply of these doggie painkillers. It really takes the edge off of her normally mopey tendencies.

Gotta Get A New Behavior

This weekend marked the beginning of a new chapter in The Life of Oswald. We had our first meeting with his new behaviorist/trainer, and learned lots of reasons why the kennel is a gooooood place. Most of these reasons involved food. Our first assignment for the week is to eat all meals in the kennel (this part does not apply to humans or cats) and spend lots of quality down time in there. This resulted in me napping in the kennel while the dogs went zen on a couple of peanut butter and kibble-filled kongs. Another part of this assignment is to make Ozzy's meals more fun and activity-related, causing him to spend more time in the kennel and to expend more mental energy while doing so. Eventually, we'll buy some fancy food dispensing puzzle balls, but for now, Ozzy is eating his dinner out of a sock.

Let me explain.

As a dog who likes to, as the behaviorist put it, "deconstruct" and "explore" his belongings, also referred to as eating the stuffing out of toys and chewing their eyes/noses/what-have-yous off, and tearing his blankets to shreds, it was suggested that he would benefit from being able to "deconstruct" his supper. Watching a dog rip apart a sock full of kibble, wet food and a tiny bit of bacon fat is undeniably enjoyable. And he does it with such conviction and dedication, it's really quite amazing. Luckily, he didn't actually ingest too much of the sock. And what normally takes 2.5 minutes to accomplish took closer to 10 minutes. Well done, Oz!

Aw Jeez

Harkening back to an older comment regarding Wicked, and my need to post more things about it, I have the following to offer (thanks to Copy, Right?): prepare to be shocked, and quite possibly awed.

The connection? Rue McClanahan played the headmistress at Shiz in the Broadway production of Wicked that we saw.

(Here's a little something extra to get ready for your weekend.)

Nanna: 5 Lumps: 0

For those of you keeping score, Nanna's fatty tumor is no more than that--a fatty tumor. No cancer, no mast cells, nothing to be worried about.

Yippee!

Who knew Peter O'Toole was ever so young!

Not me, that's for sure. I have to be honest, I've only made it through the first half of Lawrence of Arabia. The. First. Long. Half. Part two will be enjoyed over 3 or four bottles of wine and a pizza. I'm not sure why, but that's the feeling I get.

My permanent image of Peter O'Toole is from My Favorite Year, which I saw when I was about 6 and didn't understand the concept of a lush. I just thought O'Toole's character didn't speak well and fell down a lot. This was also my introduction to Cousin Larry.

Thrilling post, I know. Once I get my music situation sorted out, I'll post the mash-up of Baby Got Back and Silly Love Songs.

Frankendog

Poor thing. Poor, poor girl. Who would have thought a little fatty tumor attached to her rib would cause this:
















Yeah, I know, that wasn't gross enough. Try this:




















That's a six-inch incision held together with more than 2 dozen staples. She is such a trooper. She's had something like 7 surgeries, including getting various gashes stitched up, and she always heals up 100%.

Ozzy has been very concerned since we picked Nanna up from the vet. Since Nanna can't play, Ozzy seems to be taking his frustration out on Milhouse (he wouldn't dare try that crap with Miru.). There was a lot of high-pitched whining and angry-kitty yowling going in my house last night.

Loopy Loo's Lurid Lump, Part II

This time, it is almost definitely a fatty tumor.

Totally harmless.

Totally harmless, except that they can grow to weigh 5 pounds, irreversibly stretching and deforming the muscle around them. Imagine a fatty tumor, 12% of your total body weight, just chillin' on your body. Now, imagine it attached to your rib.

Say it with me now: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew.

Poor little Nanna went through surgery this morning, and the vet says she did very well. I'll pick her up this afternoon and spend the evening holding a cold compress to her armpit, singing Beach Boys songs to her and thanking my lucky stars that I have such a good dog. I am so in love with her.

You're my best friend...I'm sorry I put you in that wheelchair, eh

I had the best weekend. Full of guilty (and not so guilty) pleasures. At the top of the list, my newest and most ridiculous obsession: Degrassi: The Next Generation. Canadian teenaged drama. What more do I need to say? Those of you who, like me, watched the original series Degrassi Junior Highin the late 80's on their local PBS station will be shocked to see those crazy Canadian kids all grown up with crazy Canadian kids of their own. And in keeping with the rich Degrassi tradition of having real-life problems that American teenage dramas and sit-coms didn't dare discuss, Degrassi: TNG's tagline is "Degrassi. It goes there." And boy does it ever. Paige is dating a teacher. Jimmy's best friend Skinner told a lie that got Jimmy shot in the spine and landing him in a wheelchair (so much for that basketball scholarship, eh). Word is that Emma has gonnorhea. Marco's gay, hockey-playing boyfriend is cheating on him. And Ellie and Alex are skipping class to play euchre for money.

God bless Canada.

Overheard in Palo Alto

I love it when Rhonda reads my blog. It goes something like this: I'll be sitting at my desk, hard at work on something very important, and Rhonda will start the following conversation:

Rhonda: "This is a great picture of Portland."
Me, confused: "What?" (absolutely no manners)
Rhonda: "On your blog!"
Me: "Rhonda, that was like 8 months ago."
Rhonda: "I know. I should read your blog more often."
Me: "Seriously."

pause

Rhonda: "Did you really hear this on the bus?"
Me: "Huh?" (note to self: learn to say things like "I beg your pardon?" and "Excuse me?")
Rhonda: "This sarcastic thing on the bus."
Me: "Rhonda, did you read the rest of the post? It's from Overheard in New York."
Rhonda: "Oh..."

pause

Rhonda: "These shoes are great, but they may be too small for a baby."
Me: "What are you talking about?"
Rhonda: "These red shoes. They're adorable."
Me: "Rhonda, I'm wearing them right now. They're not for a baby, they're for me."
Rhonda: "Oh. I thought you got baby shoes for your friend in Portland with the baby."
Me: "My friend with a baby is in Minneapolis. Dedi is my friend in Portland."
Rhonda: "Let me come see the shoes."

By the time Rhonda had finished complimenting my shoes, I had decided that I was going to start sending Rhonda a Cliff's Notes version of my blog every day.

One day after lunch, about six months from now, Rhonda's going to say something like, "Hey! I always read your blog! Why did you write this?"

You mean there's a lake at Tahoe?

Mmmmmmmmm, gambling! As I am want to do every 3 years or so, I spent the weekend at playing blackjack. It was my first trip to real honest to goodness Lake Tahoe, and we spent the night at Harrah's in Stateline, NV on the south shore of the Lake.

At least they tell me there's a lake. Supposed to be pretty spectacular, too.

The weekend went like this: drive in the convertible with the top down. Nice and sunny and warm. Stop to reapply sunblock, buy stuff at the Vacaville Premium Outlet Mall. Drive more. Get to Tahoe and lose money. Make some of that money back, and learn the difference between "doubling down" and "splitting." Sort of. Repeat many times. Put $5 on 33 black as you walk out of the casino, and win $20, which allows you to feel as though you not leaving as a loser. Drive in the convertible with the top down. Nice and sunny and warm. Stop to reapply sunblock, buy stuff at the Folsom Premium Outlet Mall. Drive more. Get home and feed the angry cats.

Good times were had by all.

Feline Friends

I know that, to many of you, it seems like I do not give my cats equal representation on this blog. To you, I say: you're right. My cats, who spend their days home alone and their nights hunting for postcards and underwear, do not get the name time that my dogs get, the face time, none of it. Not when it comes to the blog.

And it sucks because they are such awesome cats. I guess it has a lot to do with whether I want to be known as a cat lady or dog lady. Preferably, I'd be known as neither. But if I had to choose one, I'd go for dog lady. Dog ladies are typically athletic, tanned, fun-loving gals who do admirable things like go for jogs and volunteer for worthy organizations. They have nicely decorated apartments, and can both knit and use powertools. Well. Cat ladies, while sensitive, poetic, and excellent cooks, tend to wear billowy skirts and gem stone pendants. They drink soy lattes and use all-natural hair products.

Ok, I can think of at least three friends whom I've just pissed off.

I'm lucky, however, that even though I'm not a cat lady, my cats are Deborah cats. They love me even if I rarely blog about how fuzzy their bellies are, or how we call Milhouse "Minxy" when he lies across my lap with his head down, all flat and still, like a fur coat. My cats understand, and they forgive. They love. And sometimes, they let me hug them.

Are you ready to ROCK????

Guess who's opening for Devo at Scott & Dana's wedding? Blood, Sweat & Tears!

A Gal of My Word

The band is starting rehearsals for Dana and Scott's wedding...

Sit, Too Much Tongue. Good dog.

The USA network captured pretty much my undivided attention this weekend with their epic (series? mini-series?) show, Into the West. Basically, a bunch of pioneers and a bunch of Lakota are born, fall in love, kill, and die. And lots of stuff happens along the way. It's sort of like Deadwood if it were rated G. Or at least PG. And it's directed by Steven Spielberg, so there are lots of emotional gazes, lots of big sweeping movements with the cameras and the music. And the Lakota have really fun names, such as "Loved by the Buffalo," "Thunder Heart Woman," and "Runs with Foxes." Of course, when a Virginian marries a Lakota woman and they have a daughter, her names is "My Great Light," which becomes "Margaret" around the white folk. Clever!

As the series moved along (3 two-hour episodes over the holiday weekend), my human, feline and canine roommates all got much more interesting names. Over the course of 72 hours, Ozzy was known as "Rolls in Grass," "Barks at Air," "Hogs the Bed," and "Trembles with Fear" (this last name was due to the fireworks, which, to him, apparently signify the end of days.).

Nanna was mostly "Runs with Toy," where "toy" was substituted with "ball," "duck," "moose," etc. At times, however, she became "Lover of No One," "Knee Licker," and "One Who Begs Incessantly."

Miru was known as "Sleeps on Laundry" and "Hunter of Postcards" (he's taken to carrying around pieces of mail at night, and screaming about it as if he'd just caught Osama bin Laden.).

Milhouse is now "Dances with Flies" and "Makes Great Stink." We'll leave that one alone.

Luckily for me, I referred to Max most of the weekend as "Brings me Beer" and "Friend of BBQ."

The whole situation was dangerously similar to that time that I kept referring to President Bush as President Bartlett. So much wishful thinking.

You deserve each other, this hat and you

A recently posted comment:

1 Comments:
Anonymous said...
you need to have more things about wicked

6/29/2005 4:29 PM

Well! I've never been one to turn down a good suggestion. More things about Wicked indeed!

First additional thing about Wicked: Oh. My. God. 3/4 of our office (not including the canine constituency) is obsessed with the soundtrack. 1/4 is going to see Wicked again when it comes to San Francisco, 1/2 is seriously considering shelling out the $150+ to go see it again when it comes to San Francisco.

Second additional thing about Wicked: Kristin Chenoweth. In all her squeaky glory. That woman has got a set of pipes that would make Celine Dion blush.

Second additional thing about Wicked, part two: Taylor the Latte Boy, as sung by Kristin Chenoweth (about 3/4 of the way down the page).

Third additional thing about Wicked: "Defying Gravity." Eventually, I'll post this song here. It just gives me chills--and you can download it as a ringtone here.

More additional things about Wicked later. We'll end today's discussion with this image:



Check her out. Don't mess with Elpheba, man. She's defyyyyyyying graaaaaaaaavity...

I Heart NY

Girl: Are you mad at me?
Guy: No.
Girl: Are you being sarcastic?
Guy: No.
Girl: Now are you being sarcastic?
Guy: No.
Girl: Now are you being sarcastic?
Guy: Well yeah, now.

--B45 bus

Some would say best site ever, but I never use superlatives. I will say, however, that there is much foul language. Consider yourself warned. Then laugh your (bleeping) (bleep) off.

Did I mention smoked salmon? Oh, I did?

On the menu this weekend: lox, and lots of it. I will be trying 2 methods of curing some of this salmon that's taking up all of the room in my freezer. A got a recipe for gravlax from Rhonda's friend, which calls for curing the meat with salt and sugar. Plus, the Weber site shows you how to turn your charcoal grill into a smoker. You're all invited, but only if you bring the bagels and cream cheese. And capers. What's more patriotic than alder-smoked Pacific King Salmon? Not a thing. Certainly not hot dogs, baseball, apple pie or Chevrolet, so just shut it.

And they only thing even half as patriotic as the aforementioned smoked fish? Shopping. Well, consumerism in general. And thanks to little miss DRB up in Portland, I'll have to consume these shoes. In red latigo leather. Mmmmmm, economic stimulation.

There's grilled salmon, fried salmon, salmon scampi, salmon gumbo, salmon cocktail, smoked salmon...

I know this person who is pretty neat. I hold her in pretty high regards, and tend to view her words as law. Recently, she told me that I haven't been writing enough in my blog posts. Too many pictures, she says. They're nice pictures, sure, but she wants more words. To her, I say this:



and this:



That's right. You heard me.

Last Saturday, I attended a deep-sea-fishing-surprise-birthday-party for my friend, Silverman. Her boyfriend APV set the whole thing up. We set sail aboard the Captain Joey at 6 am, out of the Bay and under the Golden Gate Bridge, and we kept going until we were 30 miles (or 264 knots...or something) out in the Pacific Ocean. Then, we fished. For four + hours. And, surprisingly, I never got bored. A little nauseous, sure, but never bored. And the best part is, I caught a 20 pound Wild Pacific King Salmon (not the best part for the fish, I'm guessing).





What have we learned? Fish on both sides of the country fear me. And if you're a sea lion, you'd better stay the heck away form Capt. Mushy.

Gone Fishin'

Pictoblog

I got the first 3 rolls of film from NYC-DC developed, 2 Holgas and an Action Sampler. Some highlights:



My brother brews beer in his Williamsburg, Brooklyn apartment. The whole dang place is filled with metal coils and giant glass jugs and things that create various types of carbonation. It's a great place to take pictures of light reflecting off of things. Things like beer-making equipment.



From the top of The Empire State Building, through the haze.

There should really be a warning on maps of Washington DC and Metro stations and hotel lobbies warning tourists NOT to use the Washington Monument as a directional landmark to try and find their way to or from somewhere. It looks the same on all 4 sides so it's incredibly disorienting. You might think you're walking from the Lincoln Memorial to the Smithsonian via the Bureau of Engraving, but you're actually walking form the Lincoln Memorial to the White House via some messed up path known as "The Eclipse." And since, by city ordinance, no buildings can be taller than the capital building (3 or 4 stories), there aren't a whole lot of other tall landmarks to use as directionals.

I'm just saying.

Back in Action

Being home is nice. Don't let my lack of posts since my return lead you to beleive that anything is amiss. I'm simply trying to work my way through this lovely pile of paperwork and other such action items. I'ts great to be home, the dogs, cats and I couldn't be happier (unless, of course, a certain boy were not in London). Tonight, we celebrate with BBQ!

Home sweet home

Four and half hours early for my flight home...honestly, sitting at the airport is better than spending another minute in the hotel. I'd lie by the pool in the sun, but I don't think my skin could take yet another sunburn, and I seem to be more or less immune to sunscreen. Besides, this is one step closer to home, one step closer to my own bed, one step closer to my own shower, one step closer to Cecil B DeCouch (AKA Patsy Recline) and my pirate's booty of TiVo-ed shows--including, but not limited to: the new season of the 4400, Hit Me Baby One More Time where washed-up pop stars and one-hit-wonders fro the 80's compete for the adoration of the home audience, a la American Idol, countless episodes of The Venture Brothers... Ah, I can already feel my brain preparing to go into hibernate mode.

Of course, Dulles airport is also one step closer to my precious and precocious 4-legged friends, those furballs who own most of the available real estate on my heart. (Technically, I'm also one step closer to Max, but he's still in London for another week, and I'm trying very hard not to focus on that.)

Unless there's a free wireless hotspot here (doubt it), I won't be posting this until I'm actually back in my apartment, and chances are my computer will be the last thing I want to deal with once I get there. So hopefully, when my hundreds of eager fans are reading this, I'll be fast asleep with an Oz at my head and a Nanna at my feet, TV softly glowing in the background...

On my way home

Honest Abe: Correction

In my post the other day about the Lincoln assassination display, I wrongly identified the bloody sleeve as that of Lincoln. It is actually the sleeve of Edward Curtis who assisted in the autopsy. Thanks again, Sarah Vowell!

Early evening on the National Mall

It's humid in DC. Just look at that frizz:



Granted, it was a blustery day yesterday. Perfect weather for checking out the National Sculpture Garden. Yep. Some of our national art is damn strange.



And some of it so awesome, I would hypothetically cross the "Do not cross" line in order to get a better picture. Hypothetically.



Washington DC is more than a city of National thises, National thats, and National the others. It's also a global city of internationalness. Hence the International Spy Museum. It's fun to learn about how the whole world lies to one another in order to learns each other's secrets. And the gift shop was extraordinary. Plus, the sign is super snazzy (you know how I feel about marquees).



I know, I know. "What about the conference? You know, your job?" The conference is going well; it's good to see the international community coming together to promote Small Business. Plus, I get to practice my Swedish. There's a huge focus here on Women's Entrepreneurship, which is exciting especially as some of the Middle Eastern countries are starting to give their female citizens a few more of the freedoms afforded to their male counterparts--financial freedoms, physical freedoms--the elements necessary in enterprise creation. I've always felt that if the women in some of these more volatile societies had more freedom and social responsibilities, there would be less fighting, less religious fundamentalism, less classism and racism, and more education--the US included.

How's that for a tangent?

Honest Abe

We spent yesterday morning at the National Museum of Heath and Medicine in the Walter Reed Army Hospital. Wait--it's better than it sounds. We saw formaldehyded conjoined twins, the history of prosthetic limbs, a hairball shaped like a stomach (removed from compulsive hair-eating girl), and real, live leeches! But the best part was the bullet that killed President Lincoln. It was on display along with bits of his skull, the probe used to dig the bullet out from it's resting place, 6 inches deep in his brain, and a piece of Lincoln's sleeve with drops of blood on it. The whole thing was fascinating.



Fittingly, we spent the evening at the Lincoln Memorial (along with 2,500 high school students. If you come to DC in June, prepare for lots and lots of high school students.). That building is the definition of majesty. I've just started reading Assassination Vacation by Sarah Vowell, and she was a real Lincoln fan. The fact that I heard her voice narrarating as I read the Gettysburg Address on the side of the monument really made the whole experience even more surreal--and more pleasant.



Today I had time to briefly check out the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum and the Albert Einstein Planetarium before the work began. Conference set-up went smoothly, and it looks like the International Council for Small Business is ready to rock and roll.

admittedly, it's been a long trip from BEA to the Lake to DC, and I'm missing my dogs and cats something fierce. Ozzy had another emergency trip to the doggie dentist and is now minus one tooth. Luckily, I got him a giant stuffed plush halitosis germ from the Health and Medicine Museum--no teeth necessary.

The McPherson Square metro station

Taking the Metro in DC