Ask and I Shall Receive

Just a few minutes after my call for news, I got this email from my fave cuz:

Fake novelist in your 'hood! according to the SFGate, the former JT Leroy is a waitress in Rockridge: "These days, she is out of the literary limelight and back pocketing tips on the night shift at Soi 4, a Thai restaurant in Oakland's Rockridge district." how exciting!

Which incarnation of JT Leroy, though? It's the person who was dressing as JT, not the person writing as JT. Something you can take from this article is that Savannah Knoop is almost as annoying as JT Leroy, which I didn't think was possible.

We get Soi4 take out all the time, and the owner's kid goes to Broccoli Montessori. I am annoyed that I have only 1 degree of separation from this twit.

Help!

I am at that point on my To Do list where everything has been on there for two weeks, or will take more than 10 minutes to complete, and therefore I cannot Do it. SO, I am trolling the internet and my readers for good stories. Here's one. They pulled a naked crackhead out of the jaws of an alligator down in Florida. Begrudgingly, it seems. "He admitted that he'd been smoking crack cocaine. But still, it's a human life," (The sherriff) said at a news conference. "Our deputies don't ask questions, they respond and they save people." That's big of them.

Also, ho hum, Britney Spears is hanging out with Paris Hilton, either cutting in half or doubling the number of disaster-prone moments that Us Weekly can cover.

A Point That Bears Repeating

It's the holiday season, so I just wanted to remind everyone: Do They Know It's Christmas Time? is such a stupid song. I heard an a capella version the other day on the radio (I was trying to change lanes, so I couldn't change the station) and just thought, again, "They may or may not know, but they certainly don't give a shit."

And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life(Oooh)
Where nothing ever grows
No rain or rivers flow
Do they know it's Christmastime at all?

I doubt you need me to chronicle the ways in which this is stupid. You've already done it yourself annually for the past 20 years. But it's that time of year again, so in your festive spirits, do not forget to be angry about the absurdity of these lyrics. Happy Holidays.

Shooting Fish in a Barrel

Here's your BPN post o' the day:

How to properly dispose of placenta in freezer

We took our baby's placenta home in the hopes of planting it under a tree, forgetting that we are renters with no backyard.Now, it's in our freezer and I wanted advice about proper disposal (it's considered biohazardous waste). Can we take it back to Kaiser? Other ideas? needing freezer space back

What.were.they.thinking.exactly? And what do they need the freezer back for? Thanksgiving leftovers? You made your bed, placenta-keepers, and now you need to sleep in it.

In other news, I saw a truck today that said

Crime Scene Clean-up, Inc. Homicide Suicide Accidental Death 24 Hour Service

Good to know that's out there, I guess.

Not much going on otherwise. I am wiped out from all this work and kids and sh*t.

Outraged Defense of a Friend

The other day, I directed you to read a piece concerning a certain Toothbrush-of-the-Month Club, written by our pal Jay Wexler. You probably nodded your head throughout, thinking, my toothbrush is stanky, I could totally use a toothbrush-a-month.

Well, this hater just doesn't get it. OF COURSE, FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE IS CANADIAN! How else would they give voice to the inner yearnings of Americans? There are several problems with "Z.D. Smith's" doubt-a-rama. First of all, Canadians understand Americans (and by this, I mean, United-States-of-Americans) better than Americans do. Second, FBOFW is about the human condition, not about national identity. Finally, Canadians live on the continent of North America, thus making them American. Sheesh. So fear not the unlikelihood of tenure, Jay Wexler. Your piece on the shits-and-giggles of the SCOTUS doomed that long ago.

Your Little Dose of Methadone

I've been getting some complaints about my absence from the blog. I didn't even realize it had been a week. One reader suggested that I get an assistant to handle things at work, to free me up to write. It's a great idea, but, really its an unfunded mandate. Plus, this week the blog could practically write itself. OJ? Kramer? Riot Grrl mothering? So very much to annoy me, so little time.

Brook and I will be unveiling our "Smile Rockridge" campaign any day now, so check back for updates. We welcome designs for T-shirts, bumper stickers (preferably along the lines of "I heart smiles and I heart Rockridge and I vote" or somesuch), etc. I was thinking maybe we could draw the library into it, make a read-a-thon part of the celebration. But that might just be because I love read-a-thons. For those of you who don't live in the neighborhood, here's the issue: We live in possibly the nicest place on the planet, in one of its nicest neighborhoods, and people on the street refuse to smile or make eye contact. They aggressive frown at you when you walk by them. It's a very walkable place too, so we get frowned at a lot. We cannot figure out what's going on. So in addition to a design contest and a read-a-thon, Smile Rockridge (tm) also welcomes psychoanalysis. A therapy- in, if you will. I think the kick-off week for this campaign is off to a great start and I welcome your comments and suggestions.

Toothbrushes

Toothbrushes toothbrushes toothbrushes.

By the way, is Lincoln Chafee going to go back to being a blacksmith now??

Tummy Grumbles to Paladar T

Paladar Temescal gets a mention in the LA Times in an article on underground restaurants. Congratulations, Melissa and Hannah! Great job this weekend!

Children, Acting Nice

To compensate for the hundreds of times I have forbidden Liam from touching Quinn, I let him hold the baby on his lap this morning. Here's the result:


I learned today that two acquaintances, totally separate and unrelated, had committed suicide. I've also learned other sad things this week, which made me feel old, and, at the same time, naive. I'm being intentionally vague, and mention all this just to say, take care of the ones you love and love them. Thanks.

Thanks But No Thanks

There are problem hundreds of reasons why the Democrats won big yesterday. I am almost certain that this book, Why Mommy Is A Democrat, helped very little. Even with a portion of the sales going to help Democratic candidates.

A New Day

It looks like “Art” did his part, and helped sweep the Dems into power. Very big heavy sighs of relief. This may be the first time that the homophobia of evangelical Christians helped get Democrats elected. The news was reporting that voters were concerned about “corruption” but, like the “values” voters of 2004, this is a code word for homa-sexuals. Only this time, the gays are Republican, and the bans on gay marriage propositions reminded nut-wingers to vote Democrat, as the party of non-pedophiliac, non-methhead gays.

This morning I heard John Tester call Iraq a “quagmire” and Harry Reid called it a “morass”, words no Dem would use yesterday. Well, let’s call it like we see it and be honest now. Very good very good.

May Election Season Never End

I cannot tell you how much I love this story. If this were in a novel, you'd be, like, yeah right. So much hypocrisy. I really hope it torpedoes Colorado's dumb anti-gay-marriage ballot measure. And with Rev. Ted Haggard calling himself "Art" for the purposes of his meth-fueled trysts, I wonder, How does one choose a nom de perv? Is it like the old "Porn Name" game, where you take your first pet's name and the street you grew up on to figure out what you'd be called if you made adult movies. Depending on the pet, and the street, I could be "Frick and Frack Rural Route 4" or "Raindrop Oakland" or, best of all, "Flynn Kimbark", which sounds more like my Lady and the Tramp 3: Bow Wow Wow (straight to video) name.

Anyway, I digress. Maybe Art is somehow a nod to The Naughty Reverend's defense that he never really did meth. He just, you know, wanted to see what it felt like to buy it. It was an experience that he needed so that he could dance about it. Or translate in Chiaro-oscuro or whatever his particular medium is. Or maybe Art was the father of a childhood friend, who was a police officer that Haggard always looked up to, and Haggard wanted to follow into public service, and now, when he's not ministering to his 14,000 member flock, he goes undercover to help do drug and sex-ring busts for, but he can't tell that part of the story yet, because that would hurt an ongoing investigation.

Whatever it is, it's clear we have not heard the whole story yet.

Happy Halloween

Here's picture of Liam in his Starfish costume (belly-up view). I hope everyone has a fun, unegged day.

Lest you get the impression I am working hard

Not much going on - you know, I'm still chewing on last night's Wire episode - but I thought I'd share a couple of things.

First, I think you will come back to this repeatedly.

Second, did you know that Snuffleupagus's first name was Aloysius? Read the wikipedia entry on why adults can now see Snuffy. It's quelle disturbing when you find out Sesame Street is keeping it real.

Please Forgive Me, Mr. Simmons

It turns out that if you Google "I'd love to read a book that traces the history and trends of various names," the first two hits are for Bill Simmons' original column and then my blog. I know this because someone did, in fact, google that sentence. God knows why.

Anyway, aside from being sort of star-struck by my place in that particular line, I am now worried that SportsGuy is going to find out I reprinted part of his column and then sue me. So, Mr. Simmons, if you find your way to this blog (more likely now that I have written your name several times), let me explain: Yours was really a funny column, made funnier by the fact that I have a kid named Liam. HA! "Liam D." if you will.

Other things you should know about me: I love The Wire, and I read your whole book, start to finish, in about 3 consecutive nights. I interrupted a sleep-inducing Sudoku mania to read the whole thing. The hardcover version, which I had bought for my husband. How about that? HOW CAN YOU SUE ME AFTER ALL THAT?

The Mail Bag

A Dear Reader writes:

Dear Drea,

I visited your blog today and read the discussion about postings on BPN. Naturally, my first thought was: "WTF is BPN?" So I did a search on Google and came up with:

1. Berkeley Premium Nutraceuticals. The manufacturer of Enzyte, "the original once-daily tablet for natural male enhancement." The posts you were discussing seemed to fit, but then I thought: "Why would Drea be visiting the Enzyte site?" I mean, I've seen the photo of Brook with the 70's mustache and no one with a mustache that awesome could be having trouble "down there."

2. The Butane-Propane News. Butane? Propane? In your teens you may
have huffed chemicals from paper sacks in New Jersey basements. But Butane? Propane? Too flammable! And, I bet, you don't do that anymore.

3. Banco Português Negócios. Could Drea be laundering money for Bay-area organic milk cooperatives? Maybe? But why would an opinionated hooker be hanging around a Portuguese bank website? Oh wait. Where else would someone go after turning tricks in Macau? Still, that just didn't seem like the answer. Why would Banco Português Negócios have a chat room on their website for milk-money launderers and hookers? Doesn't make sense.

4. Berkeley Parents Network. Oh. That must be it.

Maybe you should publish a glossary of terms and abbreviations so folks like me don't have to devote a half hour to figuring out WTF you're talking about.

Thanks, Reader. You found BPN but for the rest of you, here's a supplemental glossary for understanding this blog:

WTF = What the Fuck?

MIL = Mother-in-law, i.e. someone who does not like that I occasionally use the word "F" on my blog. I would like to just reassure my MIL that I did not then, and do not now, huff chemicals. Ick.

'stache= mustache, an inexplicably frequent topic here at Scobie's.

A Fresh Breath of Sanity and/or Realpolitik

You don't even need the initial post, or the title, to figure out what this BPN post concerns:

I'm a married man at least ten years your junior, and I cantell you are getting more than your average share of intimacyfrom your wife. Also, you're not doing enough around the house. You sound like a complainer. Grow up, start acting like a man (make sacrifices), be happy and love your wife.

Heh, heh. I wonder if Junior even lives in Alameda County. On the topic, here's another voice of reason:

You had my sympathy, more or less, up until that last line: ''I’vesuffered from low self-esteem but getting rejected 6 out of 7days in literally killing me.'' Sex once a week may be frequent,or infrequent, depending on the couple; getting pestered EVERYDAY about it is going to be a huge turn off.

And then there is the "put the fear of God in my heart" post:

This is as much a heads-up to the many moms who post about their reduced sex drive as well as a specific reply to the gentlemanwho posted the query. I'm answering as a single mom in my 40's who is also unashamedly a part-time ''provider''--I advertise on Craigslist--I'm paid for sex and companionship by men from 25 to 65, mostly married, whose wives can't or won't engage in intimate relations (some ever, some infrequently like your wife).

I'm not a ravishingly gorgeous siren; you couldn't pick me out in line at the berkeley bowl. I don't do anything particularly skillful or kinky; what I do is something far simpler, for which there is vast demand: I authentically enjoy sex (albeit on a commercial basis) with husbands like you. More--many more--men get entangled in affairs than see a pro; the repercussions of affairs, when they become emotionally involved, have been well documented on this list.

Whatever those of you reading this may think of me, I'm positive I've seen more than a few husbands of happily married BPNers on a professional basis. I try to send them home feeling satisfied, desirable, and appreciative of their wives' strengths as well as their limitations. If that seems threatening to the women on this list, consider the fact that there are many, many willing women with less firm boundaries--paid and unpaid--for your husbands to avail themselves of in their search of what's ''missing'' long-term in your marriage.

In my opinion, if a woman is not willing to address either the underlying problems in a marriage nor the possible psycho- or physiological reasons why she doesn't enjoy frequent sex with a husband who desires her and is committed to the marriage, then (if divorce is out of the question) you as the husband are justified in discreetly "supplementing'' your sexual needs with other women while your wife keeps her head in the sand. An Opinionated Hooker

Oh, snap.

By the way, various milk obsessions seem to be in remission this week. I will get back atcha when a lactovert surfaces....

The Post that Lets You View the Other Posts

This program has glitch where sometimes you can't see text when there are posted photos. This corrects that, for some reason. Sorry to peel back the curtain on this magical operation.

Who's the ERISA Hottie Now?!

What a fun crew! What a happy couple! See, there are no zombies or peeling flesh! Brook only looks like he is sporting a 70s 'stache!

"But, Dre", you ask, "Why are you hiding behind that lovely bride, peeking over her head like Kilroy over his wall?"

The honest truth is, because I was trying to hide my burgeoning, umm, motherness. I'm too embarassed to post an evidentiary photo, so here's a picture of the beneficiary of my, umm, beneficence:

What Is Stylish?

At my alma mater, you can "concentrate" (aka "major") in some wierd things, like Big Problems* or Fundamentals: Issues & Texts. In Fundamentals, you ask a question, read classical texts concerning that question and then, I don't know what happens. You graduate with the same inchoate degree everyone else has, I guess.

Anyway, I always wanted to concentrate in Fundamentals, but never found the right question. Because my intellectual capacity has dropped off considerably since graduating from that fine institution, I have lowered my standards for what constitutes an adequate question and, in doing so, have found my question. "What is stylish?" and its correlary: how do people choose their style?**
In particular, I am curious about two diametrically different phenomena. First, the people who choose a style that has no currency in popular culture, present or past, and second, people who actually wear stuff featured in fashion magazines. To illustrate the first: the 14-year old daughter of our kids' nanny wears rubber bands around the ankles of her jeans to cinch them. Why? Otherwise she looks put together in the young soft-tough Latina style. When I was her age, I also pegged my jeans, only I folded them tightly. Why did I do that? Nowhere in popular culture are tightly pegged or rubber-banded jeans identified as cool.

To illustrate the second: some of the mothers at Liam's preschool actually wear asymmetrical felt coats. Why? do? they? do? that? I am sure that its all over the Italian Vogue or something but it escapes me why anyone would apply that fashion to their lives. So ugly and uncomfortable, but not even u/u in the skewed "fashion" sense of Berkeley. And by asymmetrical, I mean this, not this.

* "Big Problems" is a set of courses offered to fourth-year students but my experience was that most people had their "big problems" in their sophomore year.

** My classical texts would be Ways of Seeing and Color Me Beautiful, I think.
Alrighty, folks, I will be out of town this weekend at a wedding. Hopefully, I will live to tell about it, rather than becoming one of the special dead.