Completely Off Topic

From fear I've bored some of you to death with my inquiry on the origins of current fashion (aka "the fruitbowling of hipsters"), I thought I would share some things that made me laugh recently.

F U Penguin (h/t j lav). I particularly enjoy Tibetan Fox.

Granite State of Mind.

And the newest video from Ted Leo and the Pharmacists:

Ted Leo And The Pharmacists - "Bottled In Cork" (Official Video) from John Hodgman

Take a whispering class!

All Is Not Lost: Buy American, pt. 4

All I had to do to answer my own question was basically walk out the front door and down the street. I walked over to College Ave (local retail/restaurant zone) at lunch today (I was strenuously working from home and needed the break) and walked into the first clothing store I saw. Most of the clothes at Bella Vita are made in San Francisco, Oakland and Berkeley, although the woman at the counter said it was pretty challenging to find clothes where the material is also made locally or even in the U.S. She said that a lot of clothing makers who want to be "local" do look for American-made fabric, and that they find most of their local goods on Etsy. One of the clothing lines there was Modaspia, which is made in the Sierra foothills in Cali.

A few stores down, Atomic Garden had quite a few American- and California-made clothes. I got a dress and a sweater by Stewart + Brown (made in LA). They also carried Podolls ("Grown and Sewn in the U.S.") and Prairie Underground (made in Seattle). They also carried Clary Sage, which seems to be organic workout clothes, "grown and sewn in Northern California."

I then tromped further along College, and stopped in at Crush on College. I got a cute sweater for $50. It was made in China, as was most of their stuff. I felt 30 seconds of guilt about that, but then a part of me felt better knowing that at least I was making a conscious choice. I could buy my guilt away, I guess. Anyway, that did send me to Atomic Garden to buy the items I had been waffling about. I also stopped in at Cotton Basics, and learned that their clothes are made in the U.S. - even better, Oakland - and sold at three Bay Area stores.

Buy American, pt. 3

Well, this has become one of the biggest topics on this blog since the John Roberts' confirmation hearings, huh?

I want to address a few of the comments in my previous post. First of all, I wasn't suggesting that we consider this on a macroeconomic level, considering the tariffs and protectionism that entails. What interests me, actually, is the lack of consideration we are giving it on a microeconomical scale. And it's true that clothes, as manufactured products (arguably different from food)* require a multi-level approach. There is the question of where the clothes are made, and then there is the question of where the materials are produced. Oddly, the following should bring some solace: the U.S. is still the biggest cotton producer in the world and the biggest cotton exporter (per Wiki, so have it at, nerds). In point of fact, the materials that much of our clothes are made from (at least mine) are actually grown in the U.S. and exported to China, Bangladesh, Guatemala, United Arab Emirates, Vietnam, etc. where it is made into the clothing that is shipped back here (and the remainders are sent to be sold in markets in less developed countries, no doubt).

And I'm not suggesting a "movement" per se. I just find it curious that we (those of us willing to pay $6 for a gallon of organic milk, etc) are not curious about where our clothes come from. Is it because we don't put them in our mouths? Since their toxicity isn't really something we question, we don't ask questions? Or is it because most of the U.S. clothes manufacturers who tout that fact make ugly clothes? Al, I am not suggesting you try to buy only American-made clothes. But just try looking for a couple of pieces and let me know whether you can find any you want to wear.

DCV, I am am unconvinced that a rise in productivity in the manufacturing sector is a measure of success for anyone other than those companies still operating in this country. Manufacturing employment in this country has fallen by 10 million jobs since 1980 (CBO data and Natl. Assn. of Manufacturers data). Imagine where we would be if those 10 million jobs had not been shed by trade agreements and outsourcing, but instead had reached the productivity levels we see today. There would still be jobs lost, but it would have been a much softer landing. I also have enough of the millenarian in me to be freaked out that our country does not make anything. Where would we be if the rest of the world decided not to sell us their shit? Or changed its prices? Okay, so now I am back to my macroeconomic level discussion that I promised not to have, and frankly don't want to cross swords with DCV if JFB does not fully have my rhetorical back.

*I said arguably, so that means you don't have to argue with me about food manufacturing practices. I know it's complicated. Thanks.

Buy American, pt. 2

Of the retailers I emailed about whether any of their products are made in the US, one was kicked back as a bad address (Sierra Designs) and one responded. Here's what Banana Republic had to say:

Thank you for your email and interest in our products. Our merchandise is manufactured in different parts of the world, including the U.S. If you would like to know where a specific item was made, please email us again with the item's six-digit style number, and we'll do our best to
find the information for you.

Also, the country of origin is sometimes posted on the product page under ?About this product?. In some cases, it will say "Imported" so you know it was not made domestically.

We hope this is helpful, but if you would like to speak with one of our representatives, please call us at the number below.

Kudos for a response that at least addresses what I asked. Now how about the products? Although 27 items came up in response to the search for "Made in USA." on the BR website, none of those were. I found a monogrammed merino wool/silk sweater (item 784324) that was. The 'stars and stripes' Pima cotton T shirt is NOT made in the USA.

What is my point? I guess the more I think about it, the more surprised I am to realize how little is made in this country. Hipsters agonize over where their food is grown, and strenuously patronize local businesses, but think nothing of the fact that the goods they buy were made overseas. Foodie friends: What percentage of the furniture you have purchased is from Ikea?

I'm not trying to guilt anybody here. The reality is that finding American goods that are affordable (or even not affordable) is very difficult. We got the Brooks Brothers catalog today and they tout that much of their current line is "imported". The other two suggestions were Rag & Bone and Bonobos. I've emailed their customer service peeps to see if its true.

To summarize: Clothes made in the US include American Apparel, at least jeans by BB, one sweater by BR and possibly two other American designers. If this isn't ripe for a movement, I don't know what is.

Buy American

I was waxing sentimental about my alarm clock the other morning because I've had it for 14 years and there isn't anything wrong with it except its ugly. My prior alarm clock was also super-old when I gave it to my friend D. For all I know, she still has it. These archaic, super-strong alarm clocks were making me feel the warm fuzzies about American-made goods. And by the way, I just *assume* these alarm clocks are Made in the USA.

(Just checked) Nope. This one, at least, was made in China, by a Japanese company.

Recently, I've been thinking about how I can do something to spur the economy. I feel largely powerless in this Great Recession. We are blessedly well-employed and the value of our over-mortgaged house is one of the few in the country that hasn't tanked. But I don't have any plans to create hundreds of jobs by opening a manufacturing plant, so what exactly can I do to help out here?

The best I could come up with was to buy more American-made goods. Some of my recent purchases of consumer goods have probably not been Made in the USA. I just got a new Mr. Coffee coffeemaker. It was made in China. I've put my Mexico-assembled Volkswagon out of my mind for the purpose of this discussion.

As it happens, I need some new clothes. This caused me to wonder: Could I buy only American-made clothes this go-around? This is probably going to remain a thought experiment. There are very few women's clothes manufacturers in the US. The most recognizable one is American Apparel. Putting aside the creepola owner of that company, their clothes are a bit "young" and "casual" for most of my needs. I found a list of other companies at this website, but I found it pretty uninspiring. Schaefer Ranchwear USA Designer? Alpacallure!??? The exclamation point is theirs, not mine. Carhartts. New Balance continues to make only its ugliest styles in the US.

Men don't have it quite as bad. Brook's Brothers still makes some of its clothes here. And although Levi Jeans are made in Guatemala and Mexico, they've recently teamed up with BB to make some jeans in the US for sale at Brook's Brothers.

I feel despair. But wait, Dov Charney to the rescue. Just today, he declared that hipsterdom is dead, and that American Apparel will move to a preppier line of clothes. I just checked the website; he ain't there yet. The clothes are still pretty porny. I found a reference on the web that said that Chip & Pepper and Rag & Bone both make their clothes here. But I can't find other verification outside of a random Yahoo! Answers column.

At this point, this seems like a giant mystery to me. Where did all the American fashion go? Is it truly all gone?

UPDATE: I sent inquiries to J. Crew, The Gap, Banana Republic, Old Navy and Sierra Designs asking if any of their products are manufactured in the US. We'll see how that goes.

Stuff I'm Thinking About

When I'm not thinking about the rest of my life:

1. Do people ever get tattoos of moles? I don't mean the animal featured on the cover of the NYT Science Times today. Or what if you had to have your belly button removed (for medical reasons, or because you are Adam and never had one), would you get one tattooed on so that potential mates would not be totally creeped out? Just pondering future tattoos, that's all.

2. This blog had its 5th birthday and I completely neglected to mention it. Sorry, blog. I hope for your sake that Twitter and Facebook fail but that the publishing industry doesn't recover. Maybe then I will be back more regularly.

3. I read an interesting blog post today: Things That Never Happen. I feel like I could have written it before I tried to consciously stop speaking in absolutes. (Now I just do it unconsciously). But I agree with it and generally raise my kids in this way when I can get them to stop climbing my legs/following me into the bathroom. But what it doesn't address are the true things to fear. I am leery of letting my kid go around the block because there are so many driveways, and people in California tend to floor it out of their driveways with their eyes closed, even though all their Prius's have the camera that shows them what is behind them when they are in reverse (and which I suspect they all ignore). I wish there were a way of calculating their risk from stuff like that.

4. We just spent two weeks on the East Coast: one in Maine and the other in Boston, and I've come away from it with two competing desires. Maine made me want to give away all our stuff and live simply, possibly as lobstermen. Boston made me want to have a manicurist who does house calls. Have not squared these two impulses except to revert to my normal life, which is somewhere in between. One other thing worth noting about Boston was that I found myself at a Black Eyed Peas show, which I felt could have been lifted from a David Foster Wallace novel, where the band is invented by a marketing firm that relies heavily on focus groups in the tour cities. And the Boston fans are thrilled by how closely tailored the band's act is to their tastes. The Peas sampled House of Pain, for G---'s sake. And U2. Who might as well be from Boston, right? Anyhow, it was fun to hang with my family, but I felt slightly like an anthropologist.

5. In addition to 5 years of blogging, it's also been one year of running. I started on vacation last year (Aug 7-14). I started tracking my miles in January, and have run 322 miles since then. Hoping to do 500 miles in 2010. Trying hard not to regret that I didn't start earlier. I wonder what else I've been poo-poo-ing all these years that I need to try?

What's Going On

This is just a mish-mash post. Enjoy.

This morning, my 6-almost-7 year-old asked us, "Do you know anyone from the '60s? Who lived in the 60s?" He was quite surprised to hear that his grandparents all were alive at that time. I am sure that they will be thrilled to learn that he thinks it is the ancient past. Akin possibly to "the Ordivician".

A co-worker of mine (a single man in his early 30s) was lamenting to me the other day that many of the women he meets in CA are really pretty and nice on the outside, but are sort of cold and petty and mostly concerned with their looks. This was in a discussion about reasons he might move to Chicago. I think he must run with a pretty shallow crowd but I did endorse the idea that the women there are nicer. This got me thinking about the geography of niceness, which allows me to indulge in the sort of gross over-simplifications I so enjoy:

• East Coasters: Act surly and mean, are actually really nice people.
• Midwesterners: Act nice, are nice.
• West Coasters: Act nice, are not always nice.
• Southerners: Act nice, are nosy.

Finally, I have a confession to make. I was in an airport today, agonizing over my reading material choice. The only magazine that really grabbed me was the Harvard Business Review. WHAT THE HELL?!? I bought it, but not before grabbing a Vanity Fair to put on top so no one would see what I was reading. What is happening to me, and is there an antidote?

A question

I know this is incredibly wierd to ask, but it has been baffling me all day. What is the name of the shape of an almond or an eye? Is it just "almond shaped"? The shape I mean is round on the top and bottom but meets at a point on the sides. Thank you, math geniuses for this help in advance.

My Book Proposal

You know how it's all the rage to do something for a year and then write about it? Well, it is the rage, and it has been for like 20 years. The projects have just gotten more outlandish. For example, in high school, I read a book about a man who spent a year at Harvard's Divinity School, and then wrote a book about it. More recently, a guy lived only by the rules in the Bible for a year, and wrote a book. Another read the Oxford English Dictionary. One woman read a different book every single day for a year. Another guy didn't throw out anything, including his own bodily waste. I may be free-styling with that one, but you get the picture.

A minor hobby of mine is to come up with something I could do for a year, that would be wierd, but not uncomfortable, and then write a book about it. Actually, my hobby is to think about thinking about that, but never actually coming up with anything. I had my first idea tonight though, while reading the L.L. Bean catalog. What if I only wore stuff from L.L. Bean for a year? Including those heinous mom khakis that bag at the area between your waist and your hips? And Bluchers. Every day, 365 days.

Could I do it? Would my husband still find me attractive? Or would no one notice (my bigger fear)? Is this book deal worthy? Would L.L. Bean vanity-publish this? I realize that this proposal needs some refining, but I want you to know that I've finally jumpstarted my new hobby, "imagining one year projects that could be pitched as book proposals".

Truck Nutz! Errrr, Nissan Nutz!

My kid noticed them first. "Mom! What are those!?"

What is the right answer? Here are some options:

(a) Fake car testicles

(b) It's a weird joke, honey. It's supposed to look like a scrotum on that car. But even if its funny, it's really a private part, so we don't laugh at it, okay?

(c) What? Those? I don't know.

I, of course, went with (b).

More About My Grandmother

It's a popular adage that women turn into their mothers whether they want to or not, and I've come to accept some small quirks (singing everything) while probably not confronting others. But I've always hoped that I would turn into/be more like my grandmother, as you might surmise from my eulogy of her.

However, there were a few habits of my Gram's that I had hoped to avoid. First, she had enormous earlobes, which were the result of her multiple and heavy earrings. That's right. My grandmother wore giant heavy gold earrings, more than one in each ear, and they made her earlobes giant, like some urban legend told to 8 year old girls before they go into Claires to do the deed (i.e. pierce their ears).

Second, she shoved Kleenex into the sleeves of her shirts and sweaters. When she changed clothing, they tumbled out like chunky snowballs. While she could produce a clean tissue like a magician, you never wanted to use it, fearing its history. I do this when I am sick now, but I don't think I've gone the whole way, kimono-style, like Gram.

Finally, she would "grease" her feet every night and put on running socks because of her dry skin.

I now do this. And I am not NOT 91 years old. Or even 79, or 56. But I do it. Just did it 10 minutes ago. Is this the Dorian Gray-like price to pay to acquire some of her grace, wisdom and charm? I guess I wouldn't have it any other way. But I hope someday to develop my own wierd quirks that can't be blamed on my mother and hers.

My New Theory About Guilt

I spend a lot of time pissed off about my job and about certain ideals I once held sacred, but since I want to keep that job and possibly get another one in the future, I have kept quiet about the many theories I have developed about said ideals, and just stew in them. This is w/r/t The Internet, by the way; if you ask me in person, I will spout off at length and possibly to my own career detriment about these issues.

But anyway. I've stumbled upon a theory I can share. Which is a theory of conservation of guilt. Today, I was thinking about this oil spill and feeling simultaneously shitty and nonplussed about it. Shitty, because it is an awful terrible gaping gash in our earth that is spoiling a huge area of our planet. Nonplussed, because there are so many awful gaping badnesses spoiling our earth. Not just environmentally, but also in terms of human life and decency. On top of it all, John Edwards goes out every night and drinks white wine and hits on women. OH MY GOD. STOP. It's all to disgusting to process.

That's a lot of stuff to feel guilty about, right? But what I don't feel guilty about is all that crap that the Catholic Church wanted women to feel guilty about for all those years. Catholics and women and Jews overall seem a lot less guilt-tripped than we were 30 years ago, and I bet a lot of us have been feeling pretty relieved about that. We are not stressed about premarital sex, birth control, having lustful thoughts, eating bacon. I, for one, am pretty pleased about all that, especially that last one.

But while we may feel free of certain kinds of religious guilt, we are now encumbered by far more embarassing social and humanistic guilt. It must even out. While I don't feel even the slightest twinge about missing Mass for the past 20 years, I feel completely awful about all the Sierra Leonan children who are missing limbs and cuddling automatic weapons. And oh, the oil spill gives me a knot in my stomach. Thus, the conservation of guilt. For everything you would have felt guilty about in the past, you will now feel at least equally about something else.

The Car Post

We have two cars. The "other" car is a 1997 Honda Civic, and it is primarily driven by Mr. Scobie on days when he decides to drive to work (rather than BART) or when we both need to drive some place at the same time. This car is usually referred to as "the old car", "the other car", "the Honda" or "(Mr. Scobie's) car". But today, I needed to drive to San Jose, and Mr. Scobie said, "Can you take the crappy car?" and I said, "sure" but when I got in the car, I thought, What a master of re-branding he is. So now I guess the Honda will be known as "the crappy car". The next step from there is a new car, of course.

The other thought I had in the car was, Can you change someone's preset radio stations if the stations are super-corny? Another thought I had was, The popularity of the Segway in San Jose is what is keeping the rest of us from wanting to move here. I didn't tweet either of those thoughts because I was driving and I didn't want to die on 880.

Who? Me?

What am I up to? Oh, just moonin' around in my SF Giants/Fanta slanket. Finished The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest long before the witching hour, mainly because I inhaled like 400 pages of it last night. I'd share a picture, but the one that was taken of me has not been shared with me, and in any case, I probably just look like an orange lump.

Nothing else is going on, and I am trying to keep it that way. I want everything outside of my family and friends to shrink down to nothing. Or rather, some paraphrase of Grover Norquist keeps coming to mind. I often find myself thinking, "I want to shrink this ____ to where I can drown it in the bathtub." Where "this" isn't the government but some more personal bureaucracy. I don't want to be more specific, but man, being a grown-up is complicated. I saw this guy today who had a sweatshirt that said, "Capitalism is a death machine" and I got so annoyed. When did it get more complicated than that? WHY IS EVERYTHING SO NUANCED NOW?

And Tipper and Al are separating? GOD DAMN. I've already lived through my parents' divorce once. Why does this keep happening to me?

Which reminds me of a story. It's a boring one, but bear with me. Mr. Scobie used to call me Tipper Gore. Man, did that ever burn me. It used to make me so mad. Now, I don't care. Of course, he doesn't call me Tipper anymore; he calls me Al. If it's possible to be both, what will happen to me when they divorce? *head exploding*

Action Packed Week

First of all, how cute are these children? I took this picture with an iPhone app that makes everything look like an old Polaroid. Or as my cousin said, an app that makes your children look exactly like you in old pictures. The sleeping bag is SOO earlier this week, when the grown-ups had to take turns camping in the kids room in order to fend off robbers.

Notwithstanding the Crime Spree we faced, the really exciting event this week has been The Loose Tooth. Or possibly The Loose Teeth, or maybe Loose Tooth I and Loose Tooth II. The whole thing has not shaken out yet, but yesterday, Li opened a tupperware container with his teeth (I know, I know, you're thinking, What, you stupid hippies! Haven't you taught your children to fear anything real?) and that resulted in major loosening of a lower front tooth. Anxiety about the loss of this tooth resulted in such award-winning performances as this one, last night:

He's biting his lower lip in order to protect his bottom teeth. He did that from 6:00 pm last night until around 1:30 this afternoon, when I convinced him to try a popsicle (up to that point, no food or water had entered his body for that entire time). TaaaDAH! Instant relief! The other tooth is pretty jaunty too, so I'm hoping the T.F. makes two visits this weekend (Tooth Fairy, not Tom Frank. Although it would be good to see him as well).

The other thing that happened was that a bird flew in the back door yesterday evening, and flew around the house and got freaked out and pooped liberally and hid under the couch. It took much coaching and furniture-moving to get the bird out. It was the most exciting thing to happen to me in a while, but then again, I haven't lost a tooth in years, so what do I know.

A Few Installments of A New Feature

I've decided to start a new feature called "If I Loved . . . , My Life Would Be Awesome" where I would tell you about things which, if I loved, would contribute to a more awesome life on my part. It goes like this:

If I liked walking on Legos, my life would be awesome.

If I liked sleeping on stacks of Bob books, my life would be awesome.

If I liked hearing the Fantastic Fox theme song whistled flatly, my life would be awesome.

If I like decorating with sleeping bags, my life would be awesome.

I acknowledge that some kinder-hearted among you might see these conditions are sweet blessings, and I'm not discounting that possibility. That's why I am trying to imagine a more awesome life out of the awesome life I already have.

Completely Random

Now that I've tried to start blogging again, I've really noticed how little people blog these days, unless they are professional bloggers. And maybe they don't blog either, since I don't think I actually read any professional bloggers. Anyway, its too bad. I like reading my friends' blogs. For example, I was really happy today to find that T&A Lady had posted. Its a pretty funny post. Notwithstanding the fact that she accurately calls out her ex-boyfriend's non-wisdom, I do have to say that the sentiment against sweat pants outside the house was a strong one in my family. So strong, in fact, that I think I may have rebelled for some years by clinging desperately to a really ugly maroon pair from high school. So deep was my affection, I cut them up and put them in my fabric bin; I intend to use them some day in a quilt, or pillow, or some other novelty gift for my husband, who hates them.

Which is a bummer, isn't it? That men (at least good ones) don't find women attractive in old sweatpants? And its a bummer for men that women don't think that SportsCenter is lady porn. So I guess we're even.

I ran another race on Sunday. And oh mother, was it punishing. It was only a 10k ("only", ha!) but it was in Redwood Park, which is very hilly and it was raining and muddy. So I am half-happy with my time. The reason I am even mentioning this is that I noticed that the race organizers posted on their Facebook page today that several people intentionally cheated in the related 30k. What is the point? If you are punishing yourself by running this insane race, why would you then cheat? I don't think I've ever cheated just to cheat. Strike that. Yes, I have. Sometimes I check for a hint at the back of the Sudoku book. Is that the same thing? It doesn't seem like the same thing.

Finally, I strongly encourage you to kill an hour or two watching Nowmov. Especially you, Seamus. This is my friend's new venture, and it is completely addictive. It's like Pandora mixed with Chatroulette mixed with basic cable. With Brazilians. And lots of Justin Bieber. But you can skip those videos. Anyway, enjoy and spread the word.

Deep Thoughts

Still on the music thing, but in a different genre altogether (assuming George Michael and X-Ray Spex are not in the same genre). I was thinking about the following lyrics: "Though its easy to pretend, I know you're not a fool."

How obnoxious and condescending is that? If any "friend" of mine told me that it would have been easy to pretend that I was a fool, I would be so pissed off.

Although now that everyone knows that most of my waking thoughts are song lyrics from the '80s, they would not be mistaken for thinking that I'm half-witted, I guess.

Musical Influences

On Saturday, Liam asked me if people ever have pet rats, which caused me to sing*, "Freddy tried to strangle me with my plastic popper beads, but I hit him back with my pet rat. Yes, I hit him back with my pet rat!" Li thought this was hilarious, so I spun Germ-Free Adolescents by X-Ray Spex for him in the car the next day. It only took one chorus for him to sing along to Plastic Bag. "My my-nd is like a plas-tic bag (do do do do do do doo)."

I was so proud. I mean, even prouder than the fact that both my kids love Ozzy (well, Crazy Train). But here's the trick. X-Ray Spex released that album in 1977. The year my sister was born. I was three, the same age as my younger son. It was old when I discovered it in 1991. So how can it be cool for me to be playing it for my kids? It just isn't, right? It's the equivalent of my mom playing Phil Ochs and The Band and Simon and Garfunkel**, which was still mildly contemporaneous with my early childhood. So in essence, I am even more of a throwback than my mom was when I was a kid. ~~~ Does not compute ~~~

This marked lack of coolness is something I've never adjusted to. Time to just own up to it and bust out the Doobie Brothers, I guess.

* I have this genetic condition that I inherited from my mother, and passed to my son, whereby I sing non-relevant song lyrics in response to friendly questions. This would drive Mr. Scobie "insane" if he weren't already in that condition due to our children's horrible table manners and their shambled, broken-toy-strewn bedroom.

** I still love The Band and Simon and Garfunkel. Here is my friend Dave's answer to the question "Beatles or Rolling Stones?": "Simon and Garfunkel", and he's right.

Two Steps Forward, One Tiny Step Back

This post is about Oakland. Back in September, I wrote about how impressed I was by O-Town's burgeoning night life, and last month, I was thrilled to run the half marathon in the Oakland Running Festival. This weekend, we stopped by the re-opened Oakland Museum of California, which was packed with people, and I felt particularly proud to watch the immigration rally/protest circling Lake Merritt from the roof of the OMCA. OAKLAND! REPRESENT! Even the NYT caught wind of Oakland's resurgence this weekend.

But amidst the fun and the Diebenkorns, there was one small thing at the OMCA that made me shake my head. It was the Holistic Hooping demonstration. Oakland is not going to make it to the next level of cool with this hula hoop-based fairy costume sex therapy dance nonsense. And I know that one of them will find this blog post and disagree, so I just want to let that hooper know that when my old dentist's wife started anonymously commenting on this blog, it ended with me giving detailed testimony to another dentist's lawyer in a related litigation matter. So think again, hula hooper.

I've decided to chalk the wood nymph hula squad up to Berkeley and continue to give O its due. But if I see a diaphonous cape or felt upper-arm bands in the vicinity of a hula hoop in Oakland again, I WILL downgrade Oakland to a B+.