The Enduring Popularity of the Plastic Sweatsuit

I hit the gym this a.m. Mmm, invigorating. But if you'll indulge me a little rooney* here, what is up with people still wearing plastic garbage bag-style workout clothes? Wasn't this method of weight loss discredited in 1981? It conjures up such a gross scenario if you dwell for even one second on what is going on inside the bag.

Alright, enough.

* "rooney" = observational humor in the manner of Andy (not Asian stereotyping in the manner of Mickey)

Another Movie Review

M notes in a comment below that I would have known that drug dealers have submarines if I had watched the Miami Vice movie last year. Coincidentally, we watched it this weekend, and it was one of the worst movies I have ever seen. I am not sure that I would have deduced that drug dealers have submarines, because that movie was the most opaque and boring piece of crap ever made.

When it came out, I remember reading that the budget of the movie exceeded the Miami Police Department budget by an outrageous amount. So. Stupid.

Don't forget the survey.

Don't Forget

the survey.

Stuff I Didn't Know

Drug cartels have submarines. Which suggests that street level busts ("rip and runs" in the parlance of The Wire) are probably not going to fix the problem of drugs.

Another thing I don't know: What you call the old cable boxes where you slid a thing along the numbers to change to channel. Here's why I was trying to figure that out yesterday.

In a comment to my post about Leona Helmsley, my sister said that she may have thought I was the Queen of Mean, but she could not remember if she said it out loud. Here's why she thought I was so mean:

I'm thinking of the hours I spent watching TV sitting next to it so I could
change the channel for you. Who needed a remote when you had a little sister?

In my own defense, we didn't have a remote. We had the aforementioned box (at least while we lived at my grandparents), and if we got caught watching MTV, or even the video show on Nickelodeon, we would get in trouble. So someone had to sit under the TV ready to change the channel in case my grandfather came in. At the time, it seemed obvious who that "someone" "had to" be.

Another Wicked Talented Cuz

I've already blogged about lovely and brilliant cousin Kate. Now you need to meet her also lovely and also brilliant sister Zoe. Zoe is the female in this duet, and, I believe, the choreographer.



She's very awesome to watch. Catch her before its $5463 to get a ticket to her shows. (I hear that's the going rate for dance performances these days).

NFL Players and Pigeon Poop

Whew, I have a lot to say today.

First of all, I read this article which sent me a mini-bender, so much so that I sent a letter to Howard Bryant, the columnist. Here's what I said:

Mr. Bryant: A friend forwarded your column to me today, wondering what I thought. I am an attorney representing unions, but not the NFL Players Association. Here’s what I said:

He’s wrong:

“The responsibility of a union is to defend its membership -- every time, all the time, if for no other reasons than to send a dissenting vote to management that its membership always will be protected by a strong union and to alert the commissioner that his powers always will be checked by an advocate for the players. The union's message should be that a commissioner cannot simply do whatever he wants.”

The union represents all of its members, not just individuals. Without a union, a worker, including a football player, is an at-will employee. With a union, a worker is not guaranteed absolute job security. The restriction on the employer is that disciplinary action will be taken “for just cause” and not out of favoritism, personal animosity or discriminatorily. But “just cause” has some meaning, and in the context of the NFL, the employer may have decided that Vick’s actions are so abhorrent that they warrant termination for just cause. Criminal behavior certainly hits that mark. The decision then rests with the union whether to grieve that disciplinary action or not. The union’s duty is a duty of fair representation, which means that their decision cannot be arbitrary, discriminatory or in bad faith. This is a low standard that gives a union a great deal of discretion about which issues they wish to pursue on behalf of their members as a whole. Clearly the union can agree not fight a losing battle, in the interest of protecting a good and open relationship with an employer (which is in fact a goal of mature labor relations) and in the interest of protecting their other members. NFL players have a lot of impunity, rarely being called to task for their criminal conduct, but that could change, in the media, in culture on a hot dime. By staking a position that there is some behavior which is too terrible to protect, the union softens the blow for other players who are under scrutiny for “lesser” offenses (putting aside how many of these “lesser” offenses involve domestic violence), and lets the union defend them without a public outcry.

Not exactly Mencken, I know. Maybe I will put this over at The Union Lawyer so no one will have to read it.

In other news, pigeon shit may be a contributing factor in the Minneapolis bridge collapse. There is SO MUCH to worry about in this world.

Navel-Gazing 2.0

Sorry that I have been acting like I just discovered the internets with all my dumb and slightly annoying links. Before you stop reading, can you take my survey?

Please take my Blog Reader Project survey.

Thanks. I will keep posting a link to it for as long as I can stand not having the survey results. Like say two days.

Supercrack

This is brilliant. The Red Cross has a new ad campaign to raise awareness about earthquake preparedness, because 83% of Bay Area residents have no plan and no supplies in case of The Big One.

Earthquake preparedness nags at me. Its the thing I worry about after I have exhausted the following topics: L's obsession with dinosaurs, the amount of sleep/fresh fruit that Mr. Scobie doesn't get/eat, my work, my grandmother, my student loans (not necessarily in that order).

Anyway, the other day I was going to order some extra food and water because I was having the groceries delivered, and I figured it would save me a lot of hassle. And then I just forgot to do it. But I also thought: well, we have some cans of soup, I don't really need to get food. How dumb is that? We have possibly two cans of soup. We have lots of breakfast bars too. That's basically it. Neither flashlight has good batteries, and the embarrassment of batteries in the fridge aren't the right size for the flashlights. Meeting plan? Not there yet.

So I will move earthquake worrying to higher on the list. What meager supplies have you laid in, or what other self-justification have you indulged in?

UPDATE: In an attempt to make some use of my utter procrastination, I did a bit of on-line shopping for our earthquake preparedness kit. Ten gallons of water, cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli, Ramen, peanut butter, canned fruit cocktail, Jolly Ranchers. If it weren't for the canned peas and condensed milk, I would be psyched for the earthquake, just so I could eat all that gross stuff.

Don't Call It A Comeback

Don't forget to check in on Ryan.

Also, I am making a half-hearted stab to keep The Union Lawyer current-ish again. This urge may pass once I get something interesting to do.

And speaking of current-ish, Executive Orc House has some excellent movie reviews today. Since I don't actually get to see new movies, I am glad to live vicariously.

Good Night, Your Majesty

With Tammy Fay Bakker and Leona Helmsley dying within weeks of eachother, I strangely feel like my childhood is over.

Granted, my childhood has been over for a long time, but those two were my anti-role models or something.

Sister who is reading this: Did you used to call me Leona Helmsley?

New World Order

FINALLY, someone has put all the pieces together. Jonathon Lee Riches has identified what must surely be a comprehensive list of all the Major Players in The New World Order. I can breathe a little easier knowing that Jessica Alba, Skittles Candy, Nobel Peace Prize, Ken Jennings, Planet of Pluto, POW-MIA, Gangs in Hong Kong, "VERN MINNI ME", Ming Dynasty, Wu Tang Clan, Nordic Gods, Medieval Times, Eglin Air Force Base, Elizabeth Smart, Meals on Wheels, Fruit of A-Loom, and Tsunami Victims* are finally being called to account for their crimes against humanity.

In less interesting news, but in keeping with my mass market children's sci-fi interest, I am reading the final Harry Potter book right now. I am about 500 pages in, and I have this to say: It sucks. It may be casting a pall over the whole series, which I have liked. This book is too long and yet Nothing happens. Most other books/series of this ilk involve A Journey or A Quest, and things move along at a decent pace. In this one, Our Heroes sit inside a tent decorated like a penthouse, and wait for the stuff they need to show up outside the door. Mostly they argue or make really bad decisions. Its derivative of good books (The Lord of the Rings trilogy, Chronicles of Narnia) and unique in how much irritating bickering and brooding there is. I suspect Ron Weasley will be the ultimate hero of this one, because he, at least, leaves rather than navel-gazes, and then has actual epiphanies and emotional growth.

Maybe it picks up in the last 60000 pages.

* I am not even sure that I picked the funniest ones.

Meet Leonidas the Gibbon

Or just kill some time. I am nerdy enough to be psyched for The Golden Compass movie (even though it stars, gag me, Nicole Kidman), so go ahead and see if you can change my Daemon for me.

Yes, I do work.

Buh-bye

When was the last time you saw a man-hug that was this awkward?

McKinley's Thumb

Our office has a case in Crescent City, CA next week with which we've all played a bit of Hot Potato/Not It/(juvenile avoidance game of your choice). My excuses for not doing this case have run the gamut from "I have a case in San Ho the next day" to "I'm still nursing". Those are legit excuses, except the San Ho thing got pushed back til October. So then I thought, When will I be at Pelican Bay again? Why not take the family?

Actually, I want to go to National Redwood Park and its surroundings, and I figure we could kill two birds with one long-ass drive north. So, I was researching things that my hubs would find interesting enough to buy this crazy idea, and lo! I learned that Arcata's statue of William McKinley is missing its thumb. Apparently, "pinheads" stole it. It was eventually recovered, with the mayor making this criticism:

I just think it was a stupid, selfish, unjustifiable act. It's public property. I don't care if you don't think it was art. Get drunk and pierce your nose, but leave McKinley's statue alone.

True THAT.

Props

A friend sent me this website. Apparently weight loss blogs are all the rage, but when you actually see a good one, it makes you want to run out and, well, run. Ryan is pretty inspiring.

And now, a couple of corrections:

To say that Fran Boyd spirals into drug addiction in The Corner is almost totally inaccurate, because Fran Boyd, at the beginning of the book and mini-series, is already deep in the throes of addiction. The spiralling is over and she's in the rabbit hole. ("Deep in the hole, in the hole, in the hole....").

Second, I understand that technically one cannot "quaff" a lobster. And yet I cannot think of a more descriptive term for when you basically inhale a pound-and-a-half insect's innards from its butt and arms.

Clumsy

In an attempt to do I don't recall what I accidentally flagged my own blog for objectionable content, so if I disappear from the World Wide Web then wander over to Smile Rockridge to find me. That's where I will be camping out, waiting for the Blogger Police to come find me.

Speaking of Po-leese, somehow I found the comsummate Wire website. It might get me through to Season 5.

And speaking of The Wire (come on, its been a few weeks), check up on the inspiration for Omar Little and a woman whose spiral into drug addiction is the basis of The Corner. Very sweet.

Home Again Home Again

We got home last night and while there's lots to tell, I am too tired to start with the anecdotes. The long ones, at least. Two shorties: At one point in the car, L requested The Smiths, which both warmed the cockles of my heart and chilled me to the bone, if I can mix metaphors. And between last Saturday and this past Thursday (6 days), I had lobster five times. Mmm good. I took lots of photos, too.

Here's L driving a boat. (Good idea?)




Q relishing his birthday celebration (or at least the card):



And the quaffing of the final lobster (I didn't eat them all) at MIL's birthday dinner:

My First Wine Review

We had the "good" fortune to try to Longball Winery's Manny Being Merlot last night and I have this review: Manny's red socks. That's essentially what it tastes likes. The post-game footwear of a major league baseball player, albeit one who stargazes/navelgazes for much of each game.

Otherwise, our trip to Boston has been action-packed. We have driven all over God's own northeast (Western Mass, New Hampshire, the Noh-th Sho-ah, Maine this weekend) and visited all the summer camp field trip hot spots, with B and I playing the role of testy camp counselors (Science Museum, Childrens Museum, Aquarium, Faneuil Hall, Fenway). Not much to report, other than my kids' temperament is controlled less by genetics or environment, and more by proximity to a meal. Which is technically environment, I guess, but strongly genetic, given how cranky their parents get when they don't eat.

More soon, I am sure. I have managed to take some pictures on this outing, mirabile dictu.

Gimme A Break

Now that scandal has rocked my blog for the first time, I understand just a tiny bit of the pain the recently deceased Tammy Faye Messner must have felt in her life. Okay, not really. Having my dentist's wife leave anonymous comments on my blog is nowhere near as bad as having my televangelist husband's very public affair with Jessica Hahn and subsequent shaming and imprisonment for fraud become "a symbol for the wages of greed and hypocrisy in 1980s America."

Let me tell you a little about my "history" with the Bakkers. Before I was born, my parents were part of a millenarian/apocalyptic Christian "community". Although they left before I was born, my mother* stayed in touch with many of the folks she knew there. One couple went to work at PTL for Jim and Tammy Bakker.** The husband worked on the TV show (among other ventures), and the wife was, for a time, Tammy Faye's personal secretary.*** My mom took my sister and I to visit this family (who lived at Heritage USA for a while) at least 3 times that I can remember. I have a lot of memories I would like to share about that time, in honor of Mrs. Messner's passing.

1. My mom gave her friend a pair of fake eyelashes tipped with silver balls, which were passed on to Tammy Faye, who reportedly loved them.

2. Their kids, especially their son, seemed awful. Jamie Bakker's an evangelist now himself, although of the variety adored by the New York Times Magazine (See The Punk Christian Son of A Preacher Man in the Jan 23, 2005 edition).

3. One Easter, a premium you could get for donating to PTL (supposedly to support missionary work in China), was this Chinese doll, slanted eyes and coolie hat included, that sang, "Jesus takes a frown and turns it upside down, and UP there comes a smile!" My sister and I found this endlessly hilarious (still do, actually).

4. My impression - not memory - of the whole scene was that very good people were very taken in by a lot of phoniness, but also that, in all the hypocrisy, there was a deep desire to be right about how the whole thing worked. I.e., there was a deep desire among the evangelicals that I met there to believe that Jesus wanted them to prosper in precisely the manner they were prospering as a reward for their devotion to Him. That they were prospering in a manner that was totally alien to the most basic Christian principles was besides the point. They weren't bilking people, really, they were the recipients of largesse precisely because they spoke the Word of the Lord to Orientals. If the money was mishandled or misspent, that was only because accounting standards, fiduciary obligations, the law, were the work of man, and not the work of the Lord. Very early on (probably before PTL) I became skeptical not of Jesus but of anyone professing publicly to be working in his name. I think the Gospels address exactly this point, in the parable of the sinner who prays at the back of the church/temple while the rich man goes to the front and prays loudly his thanks for his prosperity. Camel. . .eye of needle. . .I'm getting preachy but you get my point.

Anyway, I hope Tammy Faye's in heaven, if there is one, because she was part of hell down here.

*While they were still married, my dad stayed friends with a lot of them too, but this crowd "took my mom's side", so to speak, after the divorce.

** Another couple went to work for Jerry Falwell.

*** This didn't last long, because the wife/secretary was very beautiful and TF was a bit threatened by her beauty. At least that's the impression I formed when I was 11.

ADDENDUM: I will be away on vacation for a couple of weeks. I will try to blog but since I won't be evading work, I may be unmotivated. Check back occasionally and fo' shizzle after August 5.

P.S. When I got into law school, my mother's friend sent me Judge Judy's autobiography Don't Piss on My Leg and Tell Me Its Raining, inscribed with a note along these lines, "A book about one woman in the law for another! You've come so far despite your father's sins." My reaction, after being upset and then laughing hysterically, was to wonder how my mom had ever been friends with these people.

My Dental Defender

I have a defender against Anonymous! Here is the comment of the Other Anonymous, as I will call him or her:

Oh, I so agree with Andrea and read her well-written tongue-in-cheek blog with delight. Having known Dr. McKinzie when he was in Tucson, I found no hate-filled or ugly untruths stated. The finish line pictures are there, aren't they? Why, I believe Dr. McKinzie had a wall-size mural of himself on a bicycle custom-painted in an exam room in his Tucson office. The man does sweat profusely and is always attempting his humor at some new trend, i.e., American Idol. And being on his third wife, he probably does need to charge in excess of what the average dentist would charge. Given the choice, I myself would prefer to visit a dentist who offered parking spaces and lip balm, and who kept his wife and her little dog, Toto, too, out of his office and his billing practices.

I have no idea how this person found me, but I appreciate their support. These posts suggest that there are a pair in Tucson locked in endless battle over McKinzie and his place in the world. I know how I feel about the whole thing, but I also feel a little wierd that my musings about my dentist have sparked this discussion.

Seriously Enjoyable

This is awesome. I could watch this all day and not get bored.




Thanks UBM.

Crazy People Visiting; and, My New Favorite Band

First, I want to welcome Anonymous*, a commenter on Breaking Up Is Hard to Do, who has this to say about my antipathy for my dentist:

Hum....interesting timing for such an angry and hate-filled letter. To go to such length and detail to write such ugly untruths; one might think that the writer (and perhaps interested others) were trying to hurt Dr. McKinzie's reputation?...For those of you seasoned souls who have read about "Andreas" devastating experience, I invite you to reconsider. Trust me, there's more than meets the eye here. I pity those desparate individuals who feel compelled to stoop to this level.

Mr. Marans, is that you?

The other day I heard Somehow at Sea on KALX. I liked them. Check them out. They have a GREAT song called Perfect Game that is inexplicably not on their MySpace page. So call KALX (642-KALX) and ask them to play.

* A different Anonymous, I assume, than the one who accosted me about my AndyRooneyness

I Am A Naughty French Pirate!

Oui Oui!!

Mmmm, Pork

As you may recall, when I was pregnant, I craved Taylor Ham Pork Roll. (I never satisfied that craving, by the way.) That desire was an off-shoot of a more general love I have of pork, and specifically of salami. McSweeneys has a meditation on salami today that I really enjoyed reading. The only reason I am not currently craving salami is because I already had some for lunch today.

Help Me Remember

To those of you who attended my wedding: Did our vows include anything like, “Thou shalt not call thy spouse Andy Rooney, no matter how banal his/her observational humor.”? I am almost sure that it did, and yet . . .

Rock Bottom Blues, Pt. 2

I wasn't drunk when I wrote that post. I sent it off prematurely and then was too annoyed with myself to fix it. But it piqued your interest, didn't it?

Before I get to the BK ads that annoy me, a couple other things that annoy me:

1. Custom license plate: Outta my way, I need a latte!
2. Vanity plate: LOOKN41 - looking for what? A man? A miracle?
Okay, so these BK ads. There basic jist is that you now do not need to scrounge for change from the couch cushions because you can pay for food at BK with your Visa. But if you are down enough in the dumps to be buying fast food with credit, how do you even still have credit?

Unrelated: I heard a piece on NPR this morning about how Florida might start restoring its beaches with pulverized glass, which has all the same properties as sand. Not once was it mentioned that glass IS sand. I expected that to be the punchline of the story but it wasn't said. At first I thought that was funny, but then it annoyed me.

Rock Bottom Blues

Burger King has this promotion

Happy Birthday to Scobie

Well, Scobie's Mock Whiskey at least. I forgot to mention that this blog "celebrated" its 2-year birthday on Friday. Techically, the blog did nothing to celebrate, and neither did I. At least not until I caught this on camera. Embarassing photos of one's sibling are always cause for celebration.

Bridezilla Shower

Tomorrow, I am hosting a bridal shower for my younger sister, who is not the referred to bridezilla of the title of this post. In researching what types of party games one has at a bridal shower, I have come to the disturbing conclusion that possibly the friends of bridezillas deserve their mistreatment, or at least have an outlet to respond to the vagaries of their awful soon-to-be-wed. *Just so it's clear, I did NOT write the text describing these games, I cut and paste it from the sites I linked to.* Check these out:

Hunk-in-a-Balloon: You take a total of 25 balloons, [more or less depending on the amount of guest arrive] and put either a picture and/or description of a man inside the balloon. After the balloons have been blown up and passed around, each lady pops her balloon with a provided pin. The lady who finds the hunk or groom is the winner!

Bachelorette Party Pinata: This is for a bridal shower/bachelorette party. The person planning the party buys an empty pinata, or makes one, and fills it with dirty little favors, instead of kiddie candy, such as condoms, hershey kisses, loliipops (lil suckers), a lace garter (for bride), and other kinky toys and items. When the bride hits the pinata and breaks it, out pops out these dirty little surprises that will make a memory of a lifetime!

Truth and 'Tare: After you have the attention of the guests, you show them a role of toilet paper, and walk around to each person and have them be truthful and tear off the amount of paper they use during one bathroom visit. The ladies at this point get shy so everyone takes a different amount as all eyes watch! After each person has a wad of paper, tell them all to be making anything out of the paper that has anything to do with a wedding, the best finished product wins a gift! I made a pillow with two rings on it, but my daughter won with her thong panties she so cutely crafted! This is fun! Everyone can be making something as the "Bride to be" is opening her gifts.

Honeymoon Adventure: When the bride is opening the presents for the shower, have someone discretely jot down the phrases she says. For example, "oh...this is wonderful," or "oh, this is so big!", or "I've never seen this before." Then you take all these phrases and put into phrases or like a story of how their honeymoon is going to go. This is the funniest thing I have ever seen, and everyone can't help but laugh!!!

Okay, sorry, I am almost done. These two are the best:

Penis Pin Game: Purchase some clothes pins and fuzzy balls. Draw a penis on the clothes pins and hot glue 2 fuzzy balls onto the end. As the guests arrive, pin the clothes pin on them and tell them they can not do something (such as touch their hair). When someone does this, tell the guests they may take the person's "penis". The one with the most "penises" at the end of the party wins.

Penis Perfection: Playdough is inexpensive, so the hostess buys each guest their own container. With the timer set for 1-3 minutes(depending on your opinion) each guest tries to shape their playdough into the best penis, and when the timer goes off, each penis is set on the floor in the middle of the room, and the bride to be judges the best looking one, and possibly maybe a prize for the worst looking one (but don't tell your guests that, or they will try hard to make it look bad). It is also neat as they lay on the floor to take a picture of all of them together, and to see how colorful they look with the different color playdough.

ADORABLE!!

Tristadecaphobia

It means fear of the number 13. In honor of today.

 

I knew a guy who was afraid of the number 23. This is long before the Jim Carrey movie 23. It was because of the band Psychic TV, which apparently intended to release 23 live albums (one per month) but, according to Wikipedia, “mysteriously” stopped after “only” 17. Not exactly fear-inducing, but of course I am not a freaked-out, long-haired skater-boy art student from Florida. 23 is also the number of the Illuminati. Still not scary, but getting closer.

 

 

The Republican Type

I just saw a picture of Sarah Taylor, former White House political director whose brilliant refusal to testify fully about the DOJ firings will win her a pardon in December 08, bears a strikingly blonde resemblance to Monica Gooding. Who are all the Girls Gone Mild? Is DC just crawling with blond Bob Jones and Liberty grads? T&A Lady, what say you?

I will add links in the am, when I am not blogging via blackberry.

Damn You, Graphite Camo Jacket, Damn You!

I may be returning the jacket to L.L.Bean soon. According to my son, the jacket can only be worn with a pair of gray camo shorts because the jacket does not match jeans or even gray cords. Au revoir, Reversible Graphite Camo/Hunters Orange Jacket, it was nice knowing you.

Is There a There There?

For fans of small-scale legislative hoo-ha, the Oakland City Council meeting yesterday must have a been a thriller. With Keenan Ivory Wayans in attendance, two local development advocates almost got into a physical scuffle, disrupted by the intervention of Councilman Larry Reid. Its not quite as great as the food fight in the Taiwan legislature, but it will do.

What's the verdict?

Just saw a bumper sticker that says "Canadian girls kick ass". Funny or stupid?

UPDATE: I think it's funny.

Here's a new one: Temp in our office has spent her entire lunch hour reading various Harry Potter websites (or possibly porno/terrorist sites using Potter and Dumbledore photos as a front). I can tell from walking past her desk repeatedly. Cute or annoying?

We saw Breach on video this weekend. Ryan Phillippe carries his lusty pouting to a new level in this taut, spy-vs.-spy-with-a-dash-of-Opus-Dei thriller. This movie had the suspense that The Good Shepherd should have had, and made way more sense than The Departed. See it.

JFB speaks truth to power. Teach!

Blogspot won't let me enter a title today. What's up with that?

NY Times has Wineries Gone Wild article. Which reminds me, since this is a "movie review" post, I can't believe I never blogged about how much I hate Sideways. Maybe I have never written about it because I don't even know where to start. In fact, I have writer's elbow or whatever it's called when you can't write because I am festering with so much hatred for that movie. All those people were immature slobs, petty, lying, half-hearted alcoholics. The sex scenes were sickeningly gratuitous and I still regret I didn't leave the theatre when my instincts told me to go. I could go on in this vein but I think you get the picture.

It's Here!

It's Coming!

It's 7:05am and The Jacket is in Emeryville! I can almost smell it!

UPDATE:

07/06/2007 08:37 AM
On FedEx vehicle for delivery EMERYVILLE CA

OH NO!!!

The jacket is still in Indianapolis!

Jacket Update

Camo Jacket Fever has reached critical levels. The fear (of theft of the package by marauding neighborhood children) and excitement (to wear it every day, notwithstanding the soaring temperatures) are palpable.

But the FedEx Tracker is not doing its part to quell the insurgency. It continues to say that the jacket Arrived at the Sort Facility in Indianapolis, IN on July 4, 2007 at 9:00 a.m.

Graphite Camo/Burnt Orange Reversible Down Jacket, where are you now!!!???

Dumb-ass bumper stickers

If the people lead, the people will eventually become leaders too.

- on a car in Berkeley.

You are shocked, I'm sure.

I Am Unpersuaded

I just got an email from MoveOn.org which attempted to excite me into giving someone money just because Scooter Libby’s prison sentence was commuted. One of the arguments marshalled: He’ll serve less time that Paris Hilton! Mon dieu! Say it ain’t so, Joe!

 

Look, why is anyone even vaguely surprised that this happened? I am actually pleasantly surprised that it was not a full blown pardon, and I have to give Bush props for being only so loyal to Scooter. Bush really does not give a shit about anything: public opinion, his proxy (Scooter), nobody. And using Paris Hilton as a decoy? Now we’re going to pretend that liberals really give a shit about her? We are not that lumpen, MoveOn.

Happiness Is A Warm Coat

For awhile, L was obsessed with a Bob the Builder jacket that he had borrowed from a friend. "Miss Lisa said I could borrow it forever," I was told repeatedly. He wore it to bed, and on hikes in 75 degree weather. It was a little wierd. Then it went into the closet, and then back to the friend's house, and it hasn't been missed.

Yesterday, I showed him the LL Bean catalog and told him to check off things he might like. He made check marks next to everything, and drew some dinosaur bones and then some boats. Until he found this:

And his heart apparently stopped, and then it began racing. He immediately brought the page to me and said he wanted it. Now. I said, Sure we can get that in the winter, it's nice. And he just kept asking for it and I said, Yes, he could have it. We then went to the grocery store. When we got home, he asked, "Is the jacket here yet?" We had to delay leaving for a birthday party so that we could order this.

He has since asked, on the quarter hour, if the jacket has arrived. This morning he told me he was too sick to go to school, and that he needed to stay home to make sure no other kids steal his jacket when it gets to our house. Only upon being reassured that mail tampering and theft is a federal crime was he willing to leave.

I just got an e-mail from LL Bean that the jacket has left Freeport and is on the FedEx dock in Portland ME, waiting for pick-up. I am so excited, I can barely stand it.

Only in Cali - July 2 Edition

It's hard to summarize this one. Basically, this secretary claims that her former boss asked her to be a surrogate mother for her, and then was harassed after she refused the (female) boss's request. WTF?

Remarks on the Immigration Debate

This is about as far off topic of the "immigration debate" as a person can go and still be technically remarking on that debate, but here goes:

1. Based on Flight of the Conchords, which is HIL-AIR-EE-OUS, we need to issue more green cards/visas to the good people of New Zealand.



2. What if, in our* haste to complete the border fence between The U S of A and Mexico, we build the fence too far north? Does Mexico get to keep the land we leave on the other side of the fence? If we want it back, what is the venue for filing a lawsuit to recover it? The Hague?

* I use the plural in this comment to denote The United States, not me and some other person.

Finally, and this has nothing to do with immigration, I saw a bit of Paris Hilton on Larry King Live (actually Taped) this morning, and she is walking this fine line between "I was scared straight" and "I'm hard, I've been on The Inside." She also used the words spirituality and audacity, which makes me think she assigned herself a little presidential candidate biography to make the time go slower On The Inside.

Ask Uncle Kafka

Dear Uncle Kafka:

Today I was in the administrative offices of the San Francisco Unified School District. All of the toilets in that building have a little sticker over them that says, “Flush the Toilet.” When I pushed on the handle, no water went into the toilet. I tried for several minutes, but there was no water. Why did this happen?

Sincerely,

Andrea

Dear Andrea:

What else did you expect to happen? As the saying goes, “The poop goes click.”

Love,

Uncle Kafka

Forgotten Lyrics

This evening I was informed of the "lost" lyrics to Wheels of the Bus:

The poop on the bus goes click, click, click
The poop on the bus goes click, click, click
The poop on the bus goes click, click, click
All through the town.

Do you see why we need a musical education program in our house?

So where is that project? Here's the line up so far, subject to constant editing:

Respect, Aretha Franklin
I Feel For You, Chaka Khan
Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You, Lauryn Hill
Umi Says, Mos Def
Beautiful, Snoop Dogg
Higher Ground, Stevie Wonder
Shining Star, Earth, Wind & Fire
The Girl From Ipanema, Astrud Gilberto
Sunday Girl, Blondie
Graceland, Paul Simon
(Let Me Be Your) Teddy Bear, Elvis Presley
Keep the Customer Satisfied, Simon & Garfinkel
Up On Cripple Creek, The Band
On the Road Again, Willie Nelson

I am not thrilled with that S&G selection (not because I don't like them but because it makes the mix more Paul Simon-dependent than I find acceptable), but I am still trying to find something that links Elvis to The Band.

Thanks to everyone for their suggestions. I am hampered a bit by not owning all that music, so if you have some technologically legal way of getting it to me, sweet sweetness. I am also working on a hip hop mix, which, upon reflection, is possibly not child-friendly.

UPDATE: Teddy Bear segues into Up On Cripple Creek just fine on its own, thanks.

Mix Tape Redux

A few weeks ago, me and the hubs had a conversation about our children's musical education, and whether it has suffered for want of attention. It was less of a discussion than an agreement. So I am soliciting the best songs for kids to learn, and then I will make a CD (0r CDs) for my kids to listen to. If you don't want to post in the comments, send me an email. (Some may recall that I made my first kid mix tape back in the ponderous 15th month of my pregnancy last year.) I am not looking for the best songs ever, just really good songs kids can listen to but which are not necessarily kids' songs. Here's some to start, based solely on what I thought of when I was listening to the first song on the list:

1. I Feel For You, Chaka Khan
2. Tears of A Clown, Smokey Robinson
3. Graceland, Paul Simon
4. Something by Stevie Wonder
5. Shining Star by Earth, Wind and Fire
6. Something by The Band. Maybe Up on Cripple Creek

Okay, I need more.

Update: In reality, You Can Call Me Al is the song a kid would want to hear from the Graceland album, but the fact is, I am sick of that song. I haven't listened to it in years, but because it conjures Chevy Chase in my mind, I can't dig it. I decided not to overthink it and went with my original choice. Graceland the album shows up the problem with the iPod approach; its a great album in its entirety, and even Al is tolerable in its midst.

Update 2: Ahem, Apple/iTunes employee-readers. Among your library's glaring omissions is a distinct lack of Larry Hargrove's "Leave Bill Clinton Alone". Not that its accessible to children, I was just feeling nostalgic for some Arkansas Red.

5 Random Things

I have taken it upon myself to be "tagged" by tk to have to tell 5 random things about myself. At least, I think that's the exercise. Here goes:

1. I am drawn to this exercise because I love lists. I make To Do lists with things that I have already done on them, so I can cross those things off. In the movie High Fidelity, I was so distracted by the lists (and not by John Cusack's sexuality, which I felt certain was hetero), that I mentally started making my own lists during the movie, in my head. I was also distracted by the Steve Walters rock posters, which impressed me as being so authentically Chicago indie rock that I could almost ignore the geographical inaccuracies in that movie. Other lists have gotten me in trouble. When I went to college, I had a list of guys I had kissed written in a journal and my two best friends discovered it, and I still hear about it (mostly because I am married to one them - the best friends, not the guys . . . I mean, my husband is a guy, but I don't think he was on the list at that time.) I have books full of lists I have made just sitting around.

2. My decision to move to California was motivated in large part by a knee injury I had suffered the winter before I moved out here from Chicago. I was walking Flynn, and I slipped on some of that thick thick gray ice, hyper-extending my knee. Four months of physical therapy. When I got a job offer at this random place in Oakland, one of the first thoughts I had was, "No more ice, no more freezing cold." Strangely, it took a few minutes to think, "What about your boyfriend, your car, the fact you're taking the IL bar???" which I think means I was ready to leave Chicago.

3. When my mom moved my sister and I away from Indiana to New Jersey, I was so angry. In retrospect, I know I was angry about a lot of things, but the way I expressed it at the time was to be angry about leaving Indiana. "You are ruining my life!!" was a common refrain. My feelings of anger and isolation were deepened when my new fourth grade teacher in NJ made fun of me for saying, "Connect-i-cut" rather than "Connett-i-cut" (it's subtle, but say it out loud and you will realize what a rube I was).

4. I've probably never even talked to TK and yet I feel like I have known him for over 13 years, which is how long I've known JFB. Met JB in 1992 at a frat party. He was wearing a Big Black t-shirt, and I thought "flirting" was making fun of Big Black. Ahh, life was simple then. Actually it's even simpler now. JFB has also spoken highly of TK but my lasting memories include such gems as, "What's it like to be a fucking moron?" Truly brilliant, TK. I [heart] your blog.

5. University of Chicago: I went to the U of C for three reasons (another list): a) In The Bell Jar, Plath writes that she met some young men from Chicago and they were very wierd; b) It was far far away from New Jersey, and specifically my classmates at the all-girls' Catholic school I attended; and c) when I was sophomore in high school, E, a senior who I looked up to (she was one of three 'punks' that year) got into Princeton. Her mom rushed to school with the acceptance letter, but when E saw it, she burst into tears and said, "But I want to go to the University of Chicago!" (She did). Other reasons include a decent financial aid package and the rare opportunity to seem like the most socially adjusted person in the world.

Okay, that's it. I tag Seamus, T&A, M and the other M.

Almost As Good As Watching It

Well, not really. But tidbits about the filming of next season of The Wire are starting to pop up. For example, they were filming at The Washington Post offices a few weeks ago. Football fans who are not Wire fans, and vice versa: the Michael Vick cameo news is probably not true, but rather a joke about Method Man's/Cheese's run-in with Bawlmor Homicide. "He was ma dawg."

heh heh. I don't even care if you think I am being annoying about my obsession with this show. I realize that my persisent boosterism of The Wire may actually be preventing you from watching it. In the best light, maybe you are worried that you won't like it, and you'll feel as though you've disappointed me. More likely you think, once you watch it, I will talk about it endlessly to you. Well, I won't. That's what I have a husband, and a blog, for. So watch the damn show. PLEASE. Thank you. Now I'm over it again for a few more months.

Ohmigod.

Is it true? Is John Cusack gay??

Non sequitor: I once saw Joan Cusack at a little restaurant in Chicago, with her husband and two kids. She had just had her second baby. As in, she looked like maybe she had stopped at the restaurant on her way home from the hospital. She seemed like a good mom. This would have been in 2000. Just f your i.

This Week's Experiment in Child-Rearing

Last Friday night, Mr. S proclaimed that Q-ball would need to learn to sleep through the night in his play pen in our room in preparation for moving in with his big brother. Parents know this problem: Getting Your Kids To Sleep (a) Alone or (b) In The Same Room. It's like trying to decipher the Rambaldi Prophesies or something using only sleep deprivation and the odor of pee-pee as your clues. It's one of the many things about parenting where you find yourself thinking (or rather, I find myself thinking): I am a grown-up with several advanced degrees. I can navigate the New York and London subway systems and have driven in LA. I am smart and pretty and my tongue is pink. Why won't this baby/child (INSERT WHAT I WANT THEM TO DO)?

We've had varying degrees of success over the past several nights, and I want to say this: I am sorry to all of our house guests for making you sleep on a pull-out couch where your head is tilted just slightly below your body at all time.

A friend just sent me this link, and I had really high hopes that it would offer some insight into getting kids to stay asleep all night. But the essence of the millions-dollar study described is, parents whose children don't sleep through the night have health problems, including depression, and you should try to get your kids to sleep through the night. Come ON. Throw me a freakin' bone here, people. Please explain what you are (I am) supposed to do when the children's crying becomes an endless feedback loop, and sleep is impossible for everyone.

I realize that this is probably the number one most mundane blog post ever. Tough tatas. It's hard out here for a pimp. Etc etc. Just send advice.

All's Quiet in Whoville

For weeks now, I have been trawling the BPN newsletters in hopes of finding something really outrageous for your reading pleasure. It's been frustrating to not find anything. Okay sure there was some back-and-forth about internet porn, and an almost-good-enough exchange about whether the Berkeley water supply is safe to mix with infant formula. But only one person had this asinine response:

Our water has chloromine in it, which is a mixture of chlorine and ammonia. It kills fish, you have to treat it before replacing aquarium water. I think EBMUD says it's fine to drink, but I have a filter on my tap at home which filters this out (among other things). I wouldn't give it to my baby, child, teenager or friends. I hope that helps.

What about your enemies?

How do people not die from the stress of worrying about all these things?

The next best thing was the person whose mind-warp too-green-to-live problem was that her high efficiency washing machine cannot clean cloth diapers. I wish I had seen the original post so I could say, "go ahead and let your head explode." Finally there's the buzz about the Georgia child who died from her 'vegan' diet (the child was actually starved to death, not fed millet and, you know, wheat germ to death). I am not one to defend vegans, but "murderer" is a bummer of a rap to give people who assiduously avoid killing stuff.

Clean-up

Here's Paris Hilton's dad on parenting.

Question: What is the name of the phenomenon whereby you are more depressed about someone's life than they are? Is there a name for that? Where even the silver linings of their life cause you despair? check out www dot jedavidson dot blogspot dot com. You will have to type it out yourself because I don't want Jan to know my thoughts on her life. That would depress me even more.

Thanks to Ms. Birthday in Paris for the links. Now that you're a member of the blogosphere, though, you should learn to hoard the good links for yourself, the way EOH did with his breastmilk story.

Only the Tiniest of Victories

I have gotten the backlog of emails in my Inbox down to 29. I am so psyched about this.

The Defense Rests

When a friend of mine recently slagged the Aramark staff at the Coliseum (see Executive Orc House. I can't link because I'm "liveblogging" from the beer line), I was half-inspired to defend these off-proud union members 'o mine. But now that I have missed one whole inning and have moved 3 inches ONLY because other outraged consumers have quit the line, I will join the chorus (of one) naysayers in hating the Coliseum crap-slingers.

Negative Wishlist for My Memorial Planner

I went to a funeral today, and it occurred to me that all my last wishes may not be known. Just so its out there:

1. Do not include a reference to the Harry Potter books in my obituary.

2. Do not use the phrase "the romance of a train whistle" in the eulogy.

3. Do not call me a chick magnet.

4. Do not let anyone from my Ham radio club speak.

5. No songs from the soundtrack to Charlotte's Web should be played.

6. Do not let the funeral director speak. Or even attend, frankly.

The Significance of Cultural Memory

I saw a bumper sticker for the Orinda Park Pool today that really drove home for me (no pun intended) the significance, nay, necessity of cultural memory. The Orinda Park Pool acronym suggests that no one in Orinda remembers Naughty by Nature. Alternately, it means that there is a real trickster at play in the Bumper Sticker Department at OPP. Maybe "Sting OPP" was supposed to be moralistic?

Dispatches from Distant Ys

A farflung correspondent writes: “besides doctor's orders for the ymca, there is a whole grand tradition at the worcester branch of the "mens lounge."  you might think you'd catch a few minutes of the red sox there, but you'd need to do it next to overweight guys stark naked who leave bear ass prints in the pleather seats.  its also dank and poorly lit, something from a nightmare.”

 

Wow. That really paints a picture, huh?

Radio Notes

I heard a radio edit version of Kanye West’s All Fall Down today where they blanked out “crack” and “crackhead”. The line is “dealer buy Jordan/crackhead buy crack/white man get paid offa all of that.” I never knew “they” censored “those” words. And who are they? The White Man? Why is “crack” a bad word? It’s a bad thing, but is the word “bad”? My best guess is that they censor words that might cause young children, say three-and-a-half year-olds, ask difficult questions that parents don’t want to answer. For example, I wish I had used better judgment than to show L. this picture,

which immediately resulted in the following questions: Is that pig died? How did he die? Did somebody gun that pig? (and then repeated 6,732 times.)

In other radio thoughts, NPR proved itself a meritocracy today. True talent is the only explanation for how a man named Ira Flay-Toe, with the voice that he has, could be given a radio show. Or extremely effective blackmailing. I didn’t actually listen to the show to confirm his talent, but I will take it on faith that he is excellent at his Science Friday duties.

Hockey. Passive Aggression.

Brook works all the time, and I just assumed that he was doing legal work. Turns out he got called up to the NHL, and is playing in the Stanley Cup or something as I write. Well, that explains his long absences better than "The Henderson Matter" does.

Which raises the question: WHY is hockey still being played, as June arrives? Does this season ever end? Don't the rookies need to get back to the farm to help their folks plant the fields or something? And by "farm", I don't mean the farm system the NHL uses, I mean the actual farms that these Minnesotan/Canuck boys come off of, and thus return to, during the only month when they don't have hockey.

I think hockey would be much more popular if it happened less often. Let the hunger build a little. Of course, I think all sports' seasons are too long. The NBA season is interminable, but more so at the beginning of the season than the end. In reality, football is the only one that used to get it right, and with all the weekday games being played, plus college, plus Pro Bowls and the draft, football now seems too long as well*. Baseball is too long, but it operates on a different principle. There are so many games that no one pretends they will see them all or care about them all, so they don't go to the buffet table too often, only when they're hungry. At least, that's my approach, helping me not hate baseball. NASCAR: too long. And so forth.

Thanks to Rangelife for tipping me off to Passive-Aggressive Notes from Roommates, Neighbors, Coworkers and Strangers. It is awesome. It also triggers a confession. And another memory.

First the memory. One time I was parked outside of Reckless Records on the North Side of Chicago, and when I came out to the car, there was a note on it that said, "Nice parking job! Oh wait, I forgot: Toyota!" I was seriously freaked out. Not sure why, except that the parking job was fine, and there were no other cars around, and I thought possibly I was being accidentally Asian-race-baited or something. I thought for sure that someone was in the shadows, ready to jump me. I found out later that my boyfriend's roommate had driven by, seen the car, and left the note. She thought it was hilarious, and for awhile I was mad (not sure why) but now if I see a car that's poorly parked, I think: "Oh wait, I forgot: Toyota!"

Confession: I used to live in this house called the Plutoschloss, and it was supposed to be a very temporary arrangement but I ended up living there, mentally in a liminal state, for 22 months. My roommates were a day trader and a "rocker". I went away for the weekend and returned to find a pair of my underwear and a bra of mine stashed behind the toilet on the second floor. They were clean. This freaked me. Wierder still was the combination. It was a thong and jogging bra (neither of which I ever wore, for different reasons) that must have been found only in the deepest recesses of my underwear drawer. Although I had known these guys for years, I didn't feel like this was something we could discuss face-to-face. So I wrote a note that said something like, "while I was gone, someone took my underwear from my dresser and hid it in the bathroom. Do NOT let your friends in my room. I don't want to talk about this ever, I just don't want it to happen again!" I posted it on the stairs where neither could miss it and hid in my room.

The day trader did something that lives in my memory as the only stand-up thing he has ever done: he confronted me and told me I was being passive-aggressive. Kudos. The rocker waited two weeks and then mumbled that his girlfriend got her period and needed some clothes and cleaned them but then didn't want to go back into my room to return them. [Whu? Why get a sense of propriety at this late date?] and he was sorry, geez, mumble mumble, (walk away).

Those are my two passive-aggressive stories. I feel so much better now.

*Really, I think the football season is too long even with only 32 games per season per team. I hate football, and would be fine with skipping the whole season and enduring only the Super Bowl. One game every year, and I would still only watch the commercials.

Why?

Sorry to be all judgey and shit, but why does someone think this is a good idea? Note: This woman already has a 33-year old. This is like if my mom decided to have another kid. Or twins. Only my mom is not even 62-years old yet! So its more like my mom having twins when I am, what? Well, in order to not divulge my mother's age, I'll just say "older". Like my own kids will be in elementary school. Probably getting sex ed talks of their own in this hippie-dippie, drown-them-in-TMI-so-they-still-think-a-girl-can-get-pregnant-in-a-hot-tub town.

Awright, I'm babbling.

Different Kinds of Revelations

It is impossible to me that today is Thursday. This week has dragged on interminably. Each hour seems twice as long as the one before, and the week seems as though it is a whole month long.

Of course, time is a construct. Mere mortals defined time to help them control and understand the natural world. As Saint Peter notes: "With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day." 2 Peter 3:8-9. That does not mean, necessarily, that the dinosaurs lived millions of years ago. No, Peter just meant that metaphorically; the dinosaurs coexisted peacefully with humans just 6,000 years ago. You can learn all about it at The Creation Museum.

Hipsters, start your engines and let the ironic road trips BEGIN!

So if dinosaurs* lived six thousand years ago, why does it seem like this week also started this long ago?

Another revelation, this one gustatory: There are Oreo Pop-Tarts. Have these been intentionally kept from me? Okay, they are not technically branded as Oreo, but that is a minor licensing issue that is no doubt being hammered out by the armies of senior associates at various NY law firms. Keep up the good work, colleagues in the Trademark department!

* If you are older than 25, and you have any interactions with small children, you already know this: The six dinosaurs of our youth are gone, replaced by multitudes of dinosaurs with unpronounceable names. Remember the brontosaurus? Gone, replaced by the diplodocus and bracheasaur. T. Rex, Triceratops are still clinging to dear . . . extinction, but they are being crowded out by other, bigger dinosaurs. Pteradactyl? Try Archeopteryx, Eoraptor or one of their cousins. Who are all these beasts? Alas, the Stegosaur is no more.

Questions, Answered.

First, here's a link to Pants-Off Dance-Off, for those of you whose google button is broken.

Second, there is one question that haunts me every time I am out of my office on a weekday. Okay, two questions: Who are these people at the cafes and restaurants? And why aren't they working? I have obtained some satisfaction from this man-on-the-street report, which confirms what I suspected. They are disabled, retired, blogging graduate students. All of them.

The End of Civilization

There is a TV show called Pants-Off Dance-Off.

It is what it sounds like.

Or is that funny enough to give one hope for humanity? I need to think on that one.

So sad

I saw a billboard for a Huey Lewis & the News show at Wente Winery today.* Huey Lewis was the first concert I ever went to - 20 years ago. I am relieved to report that I did not think, upon seeing the poster, "ohmigod! I should go see them." That would thoroughly depress me.

Not so sad: I think changing the color of the blog has reinvigorated me.

A tangent: why is it that I can think up the plots of short stories but I hate reading them? I think its because they all seem so one-note. I'm not going to read any to test the theory, so don't bother offering suggestions for ones that are "complex" or "multi-layered". Okay, talk amongst yourselves.

* Next day edit: Let's be clear, I was on the BART when I saw this poster, not at Wente Winery.

Other thoughts

Why do people sit for hours at Starbucks just staring?

Why do art students wear aggressively ugly eyewear?

Panhandling 203

The Bay Area is sort of famous, in my mind, for panhandlers with "witty" signs along the lines of "I won't lie, I need $ for weed." These annoy me highly. But today I saw a dude outside the SF MOMA with a cup and a sign that said, "give to the United Negro Pizza Fund". And that made me laugh.

Next day update: "Starvin' Like Marvin". That's another good one I've seen around.

Who'da Thunk It?

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a TV news segment on the recently formed Marin County Anti-Hoarding Task Force, and I thought it would be a quick and dirty funny post reliving certain earlier, funnier blog posts about hoarding. I was so wrong. Doing a Google search about the task force yielded such an embarassment of riches that I don't even feel up to the task of blogging about this topic. Did you know that there are professional declutterers? Support groups for the children of hoarders? Hoarders on the anti-hoarding task force? When it's this farcical, it ceases to be funny.

If you're wondering about all the changes around here, don't worry, it's just the color that's different. I won't be funnier or more topical or more interesting. I added tags, but since I have posted more than 300 times in almost 2 years, getting the catalog up to speed may take a little while. I am doing it in a totally scattershot approach, and if there's a topic you feel needs to be represented, well then, get your own blog.

Argh!

Here's the obligatory post-after-the-photo post, so you can read the text below. Someday, when I am retired, I will actually read the Help section of this damn program, and figure out how to solve this photo posting problem, and change the color of the blog, and generally make it so much nicer to visit this website. By then blogging will be so passe, you won't even check to see what it looks like. But it will rock.

Rejecting the Clamor of Weevil

A call went up from the believers, exhorting the blogger to post an image of thy holiest of corporeal maternal mentors. Yay, truly unto thee: here, here, are the godmothers.

I just wanted to be clear on that in case you were thinking: When did the Church start endorsing same sex marriage?

The little guy on the left there isn't Q's godfather, by the way. It's Father Tim.

I Forgot

I meant to post some pix in that prior post, but even I got tired of reading it. So here are some pictures. They were taken a few weeks ago when we hedged our bets. Oops, I mean, got the kids' baptized. Enjoy.

This is what passes for baptismal whites here in NoCal.

Mimi trying to read the creation story from Genesis to Q, while he eats a toy shark.

Godmothers! Gather 'round!

A Really Verbose Entry - Worse Than the Prior Post

Wow. It was quite a weekend. Lots to blog about. Actually, don’t get your hopes up. The stuff that happened is exciting at the level of, well, blogging about, but it will not leave a lasting impression, or have a kicker of a punchline or anything. But I’ll give it my best shot.

Yesterday I took the kiddos to the zoo, which would not be notable in itself, but there was a guy being led around the children’s area on a leash by a much older, slovenly and obnoxious woman. He was in his thirties, black jeans, black T-shirt, leather collar, black leash. She was in her sixties, very heavy, wearing maybe cullottes, white hair, fanny pack. They were with another couple, both heavy and in their sixties. He was wearing a leather vest, leather cap and had a very dark thick van dyke beard and a shaved head. His lovely mistress was wearing shorts, a big red T-shirt, and had two braids, like she was Heidi. I tried to ignore them – and hope Li didn’t ask – but dog mistress kept yelling out loud comments to The Bear dude. “I feel like Peabody and Sherman!” God, poor Peabody and Sherman.

This little show irritated me at the time, but I got progressively more annoyed by it as the day wore on. For a variety of reasons (none of them my own sexual predilection), I have had cause to think about the leather subculture, and as a general matter, I just find it annoying and slightly pathetic. Why do people need to go through all the rigamorale to get off? That's sort of a bummer for you, if you need costumes and equipment to get into it.

Anyway, for this pair, it's clearly part of the thrill to go out in public and be seen behaving this way. But the part that makes it awful is that the intended audience for this little parade were zoo visitors (or -- horrors! -- the animals?), which at the Oakland Zoo at 10:30 on a Saturday morning, is people under the age of 5 and their parents. Making it a sort of reverse kiddie porn or something. I mentioned this to a friend last night and she thought maybe they were just in the kids' area because they'd seen the rest of the zoo, and also the Oakland Zoo is small, but it isn't like outside the kids' area, there were any more adults. I guess the thrill for this couple is to go to the place where they would be least expected, and to be seen there. And that's hot? I am just lost on this one. And grossed out.

And so then last night was Paladar Temescal, which seemed really fun at the time but today's wicked hangover sort of colors its memory.* We sat with a group of people who were pretty random, including a dead ringer for Teri Garr and who was so loud that I was dumbstruck and became a reserved consumer of her wit. Which was hit or miss, by the way. She laughed very loudly at her own jokes, and at one point made offensive remarks to another woman at our table which were so ballsy, I thought I would die. She said that she and her friends would invent fake stories for each of us, and then proceeded to say that the only Asian woman at the table was a mail order bride. By the end of the night, Teri had become . . . almost the father of the bride at the end of the reception, pouring more wine, laughing loudly but also possibly on the verge of tears, just saying shit that everyone later pretends wasn't said. She was awesome. One of her friends looked like Cheryl Crow. Cheryl, to her credit, was suitably mortified by Teri's awesomeness.

Today was a lackluster Mother's Day, but I am not blaming that on Mr. Scobs and the kids. They cleared out and the only thing I could think to do was drive to The Gap to see if I could find some new workout pants. So lame. It was the hangover. I probably had all of three glasses of wine, and I am such a wuss, I've been holding my head all day. Who cares, right? I only mention today to tell you that a very sad watershed event occurred at dinner tonight. Li, who is in the habit of asking, "When you were little, did you like ___?" all the time, asked, "When you were little, did you like the Yankees?" I said, no. He then asked, "Do you like the Yankees now?" which brought B back into the dining room to say, "We are Red Sox fans and we think the Yankees stink." To which, L said, "I like the Yankees."

You know that cartoon sound where the car skids off the road, and there's the squeal of breaks and the smash of chrome? That sound happened in our dining room tonight. It sent B around the bend. He's so mad. Li then asked me who someone in the sports section was (Derek Jeter) and he walked around asking about Derek Jeter all night. He's clearly figured out a way to piss off his dad without there being any repercussions. B has decided to ignore it in hopes that this will pass, but possibly his greatest fear, just short of our kids getting addicted to drugs, is that they will be Yankees' fans.

*The Paladar was actually fun, and delicious, but raving about it would bury the lead, which was Teri Garr.

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

My husband warned me this would happen. He's been urging me to do it for months. And I reached the end of the road today. It's over between us. Me and Scott McKinzie, Dentist.

He's had it coming for about six months, but I'll start at the beginning. When I first moved to CA, I started seeing Paula Roemer, World's Greatest Dentist. Dr. Roemer's staff were kind and funny and not nosy, and they unfailingly put lip balm on your lips before they gently removed the tar and plaque from your teeth. Dr. Roemer is a Master Swimmer, mother to 4 boys, runs her own business. What's not to love? She's also got the curliest hair you've ever seen! Adorable!

Then she decided to have another child - a little girl - and a few years later she brought on two younger dentists to help out. Drs. Chen and Loew. Nice enough, quiet. Still gentle and lip balmy. Did not push X-rays while I was pregnant, no matter how safe they might have been. Later still, Dr. Roemer decided to sell part of her practice and practice solely out of her Martinez office. Fine for her, but I'm not going to Martinez any more often than the law requires (literally, I mean. I have some cases out there).

She sells the practice to Scott McKinzie. For a while, a lot of the staff stayed the same, and although the lip balm was struck from the budget, it was convenient, and there was parking.

But the Worm has turned. The grievances started to mount. Large (I mean 20x30) photos of The Dentist crossing various finish lines started appearing. Then Tina, a hygenist I particularly liked, left (after she told me that a disconcertingly large number of people fear dentists because they were sexually molested by dentists in their childhood, making me wonder if the American Dental Academy - or whoever certifies toothbrushes - will come in for a Vatican-style sex abuse conspiracy shakedown in the next few years).

I digress sharply. Anyway, the first real trouble was when I was told that I had to have all my fillings replaced. I was quoted a price (on paper) but delayed the procedure til after Q was born. During the changing of the fillings, I realized I didn't like this guy. It took four giant shots of novocaine to get one area in a pain tolerant (not pain free) zone and, the kicker was, he broke a sweat while he was working. I realized then that there is only one man whose face should be as close to mine as that, and I am married to him. Seeing other men's faces up close is completely disgusting. Sorry, male readers, it just is.

Alright, this story is taking way longer than necessary. Suffice to say,

1. the fillings are much more cold sensitive than the old ones;
2. I ended up getting charged way more than I had been quoted, basically at the whim of the dentist's wife;
3. I had a three-month argument with said wife about the bill via the office manager who kept apologizing and agreeing that it wasn't fair but then who didn't do anything. (I won, in the end).

Fast forward to today. Here are the intolerable conditions. You tell me whether I am wrong.

1. There are now no parking spots in the lot reserved for his patients. Cheap bastard! First the lip balm and now this!?
2. The hygenist asked me, for the third straight visit, how I had potty-trained my three-year-old. What's that about?? Talk to your 8 year old (or whatever) about it, lady, not me!
3. The Wife was there with a puppy. In a medical office. Is that legal? It sure is gross.
4. And here's the most annoying: The office walls are now decorated with American Idol quotes. And there's an American Idol board game featured on the counter - a prize to the winner of the American Idol word search and trivia games which were written by The Dentist and His Wife. Paradoxically, the waiting room magazines have gone boringly upscale. Newsweek and the New Yorker have replaced Us Weekly and People. That's not right. Why is the only source of American Idol information in the office posted next to the examination chair on a pastel sign?

So it's over. And I am not even going to postpone it because of William Hung's untimely death. Dr. McK will just have to muddle through this difficult time all by himself.

Jersey Pride - WTF Edition

A favorite blog of mine, Rangelife, recently featured a story about a house that collapsed in SF. Although an entry in Seamus' WTF regular column, the story was not in itself memorable until I got to the comments section, where "Rox" said:

Maybe I should remain on the East Coast. That sh#$ doesn't happen here in NJ.

Now anyone who knows me knows that I don't take Jersey throwdowns lightly. And in a real Jersey fashion, I am very critical of uses of New Jersey as a comparison tool even when Jersey comes out on top. Here's why. If you think Jersey can't produce a house sliding off a hill as well as SF can, YOU ARE WRAWNG. To wit:

Never doubt that New Jersey will have better collapsed houses than anywhere else outside of an underdeveloped nation in the path of an earthquake-induced tsunami-cane.

In an eerily similar vein, weatherologists reported that the first storm of the 2007 hurricane season was identified today and named Subtropical Storm Andrea. Although I am humbled by the reference, nothing short of a catastrophic event that takes Andrea off the List of Popular Baby Names will satisfy me. I hate the name Andrea.

A Truth Universally Reviled

Excuse the formality of tonight's title. I finished reading Emma last night and the annoying circumlocutions of the 19th century are fixed in my brain until (insert your own corny Victorian weather reference here).

Here are the truths which I have previously reviled but am accepting, however tentatively, these days:

1. Once you have two babies, it does not matter how much weight you lose or how cute you once were, your body changes shape, occasionally in undesirable ways.
2. The only way to return a pregnancy-deformed body to a shadow of its prior cuteness is to exercise (NOTE: This is an as-yet untested maxim).
3. Exercise actually delivers on the other promises I have so ruefully ignored and rebuffed lo these 33 years.

So annoying. I joined the Y again though and went this morning. The Oakland Y is the world's greatest place to work out, because, in addition to the benefits of exercise that accrue from 25 minutes on an elliptical machine (if any; see 2 above), the other clientele cannot possibly make you feel bad. The blind, the halt and the lame. Is that the expression? As someone funnier than me once said, Everyone at the Oakland Y is there on doctor's orders. This has a twofold effect: (a) you look great and perfect by comparison and (b) you realize that if they can haul their medical scooters up the front steps, you can shut up and sweat.

Other truths, less universally reviled:

The White House is a warren of G-A-Y-ness. Yeah, you knew that. But if there's one thing to make it achingly clear, its a white tie dinner honoring the Queen. Have you seen the guest list? Both Josh Bolton and Stephen Hadley brought their moms, dude.

By the way, young Barbara Bush attended with Jay Blount. I don't know if she's seriously involved with this guy, but here he is rocking such a DeGrassi Jr. High look, it makes me think she brought him to honor the place in the British Commonwealth held by our neighbors to the North.*

Maybe the "gay" assessment of our national security advisor is a little half-cocked (har har). Maybe his wife is too down-to-earth for monarchy. If so, godspeed to her. Mrs. Hadley was all like, "take your mother, she'll love that crap."

*Here's how lame Canadians are: in voting on the Worst Canadian, the leading candidate may be a hockey team owner. Britain chose Jack the Ripper as the Worst Brit. Although maybe I shouldn't slag Canada for that. There are "certain quarters" where A-Rod would probably win Worst American.

What's Up With Us?

This is what's up with us. We've decided to rescue our backyard from concrete tree stumps that litter it. I like to imagine that the prior owner had a problem controlling all the concrete trees in the back yard, and cut them down, leaving the ugly stumps for us to toss out.

The bigger quandary for us is how to honor the duck that once lived at our house without actually keeping his fake pond and "house". I'm not kidding with this one. A prior owner kept a duck in the yard to control the snails. A pest control method I can almost get behind, if I could find a compliant duck that wouldn't fear the kids or vice versa. We have a big black plastic tub that was probably a pool for the duck, as well as a wierd hutch that it lived in at times.

Once the backyard is finished, we will have y'all over to roll around in the hardy grass/white clover, dig your toes into the "sand pond" and sit on the man patio that will be built outside the workhouse (aka the man hut, aka the MAN-struation hut).

Overheard

"The ciabatta's cool though." One male teen to another, entering Albertsons.

This statement is only true if it refers to the temperature of recently baked bread.

But how down on your conversational luck would you have to be to say it for any other reason?

Stop Stopping the War in Iraq!

It probably isn't the most impotent protest being held tomorrow, but I think the "Emergency Rally to end the war tomorrow in Oakland" ranks right up there.

I could pretend that this was a rally to stop some war in Oakland, but that would be more credible and effective than what it is. Some civic rallying against the high murder rate, or the shitty schools, or the As moving to Fremont - all of those I can see "sending a message" to someone. But I know this rally is against the war in Iraq, so why should I bother showing up?

First off, its being held in Oakland, where there is probably 100% agreement that this is a dumb war, and it is 100% certain that Bush could give a shit what we think. Second, it's in front of the Grand Lake Theater (famous for its owner's political commentary on the marquee), which means they anticipate only about same number of people who showed up for the premiere of Planet of the Apes to be at this rally.

Which will be demoralizing, right? I mean, with 100% unanimity on this point (at least presumed by the Bush administration), shouldn't Oaklanders turn their attentions elsewhere? Like, to seeing if Hot Fuzz is any good?