A Day in Gotham

Well, the BART doesn't smell any better just because its free. Whew! What is up with not bathing?

With the Bay Area knocked on its commuting butt by the ravages of 8600 gallons of burning fuel, some accommodations must be made, I know. Things have gone smoothly though. Except for the grown woman I saw run up to a TV camera set up in the station and act like a fool, everyone seems to be coping. As on 9-11 and days after, people just live without. Without two major arteries through one of the country's busiest interchanges. I can say this with the full impunity of driving only to Alameda today.

Other SF sightings this week: Market Street at 6th and above IS Hamsterdam. Its wack.

And I saw a guy in high-heeled sneakers dragging a cross - its bottom on a wheel - down Kearney. Why the wheel? Jesus didn't get a wheel. I think I know one thing JWND and that's use a wheel to drag his cross.

I'm Back

At least temporarily. If you don't live in my household, you probably wondered what happened to me. Did I suddenly stop blogging? Well, yeah, I guess I did. But only accidentally. The past two weeks have been filled with such an overabundance of mundanity that I haven't mustered a witty thought in days. Weeks. (In the opinion of some, maybe ever). Mundanities of the tax-paying nature. Researching retiree medical and OPEBs* under GASB** 43/45. That kind of mundane. Like braindead boring.

I typically find that if I write one of these posts, where I apologize and tell you why life is not bloggable, something good*** happens, and I have torrent of posts. So here's hoping. Check back soon.

*Other Post-Employment Benefits
**Governmental Accounting Standards Board
***Good as in, good to write about, not objectively good.

Oh, Wait, I Remembered

I was going to blog about how heated the campaign for the Rockridge Community Planning Commission board has gotten. I actually got a campaign email for one candidate. Instead I will add some pix of my dearies.






In this first one, Quinn shows off his babysitting skillz. The little guy is Antwwan, a daytime guest this week, who comes with Blanca each day. Liam pronounces his name "Entron", which makes about as much sense as the spelling of the little guy's name.





You can see for yourself what Liam is doing in this picture. That's right, he's building Mt. St. Helens' erupting over the state of Washington on a U.S. map placemat. My heart swells.


Because, in point of fact, the RCPC election is lamer than it even sounds. It's so NIMBY, so annoying, it makes me want to set myself on fire.*


*Okay, so that last link is a stretch. In the first episode of Arrested Development, Lucille Bluth looks off their yacht at a boat full of gay men, who are chanting "We're here, we're queer, we want to get married on the ocean" and she turns to Lindsay and says, "They're so dramatic, it makes me want to set myself on fire!" And ever since, that line completes probably 1 in 10 sentences that I think.

News Round-Up: Montgomery Edition

I noticed on my yahoo weather ticker that Alabama had a high of 79 degrees today, and it made me wonder, what's up in 'gomery today? Good stuff, as always. A guy showed up drunk at his DUI hearing.

It's a little like shooting fish in a barrel.

A nice new feature at the Advertiser website is links to local blogs. All sixteen of them. One by the guy who covers the Biscuits. Another by a rapper named Queazy. An excellent commentator on crime and culture. But I will let you explore them yourselves.

Here in Cali, nothing so interesting is happening. Quinn is crawling. In a less interesting developmental, umm, development. Liam washed his own hair for the first time today. And made a volcano out of Play-Doh.

Sorry the wit is a little spare today. I will try to get crackin' tomorrow.

Overreaction O' The Day

Protestors in India Burn Gere Effigies.

The Girly Show

My heart swelled with pride yesterday when Liam told me he liked what we were listening to in the car, i.e. Built to Spill. The album was Ultimate Alternative Wavers and for awhile it got excessive airplay both in my life and on my radio show. There are a lot of records that got overplayed in my life, the only thing I could listen to for months at a time. Team Dresch’s Personal Best, Supa Dupa Fly by Missy Elliott, Black Star, Mos Def, Lauryn Hill, Sleater-Kinney "Dig Me Out", Fugazi, Tsunami, Huey Lewis and The News. My quirk of having so many favorites annoyed my fellow DJ. I would announce a song – “This is one of my favorite songs” – and she’d flip, “You say that all the time! How can you have so many favorite songs?” and we’d argue on the air. But what difference did it make, since we had the 3:00 a.m. to 5:00 a.m. slot?

(thanks Andy). It may have been that she wasn’t really annoyed with my “favorites” but was really just annoyed with me. The night before our radio show, I would stay over at her apartment, and we would go to bed artificially early (like 10 pm) so that we’d be able to get up for the show. And we would lie on her futon, fully awake, listening to her roommates in the kitchen, and I would reach over and poke her. Or pat her cheek. And she would freak out and kick off the covers and make gagging noises and threaten to beat me. And then she’d settle down and I would do it again. And again. Annoying Ella was really one of the easiest, and simplest, pleasures in life. In fact, it really annoyed Ella a lot that I kept her Built to Spill album for years. I can't be certain that I wasn't listening to it in the car yesterday.

Now Ella has someone new to poke and pat her, and to poke and pat in return. Ella had Callum (7 lb. 15 oz.) last night around 11:45 pm. Congratulations to Ella and Dan on the addition of their new little rocker.

A Lot of New Shit Has Come to Light

Occasionally I feel like I live out on the edge of leftist politics, finding liberals to be too annoying and uptight, ruing Repuglicans from afar but never really having to meet one, since I live in Oakland. During the 2004 election, I was a poll judge and 4 votes were cast for Bush at my precinct, probably erroneously or as a joke. Out of several hundred. Anyway, turns out I am as centrist and judge-y as the next guy. Here's why:

NLG DUMPSTERING TOUR!!!!!
Monday, April 23, 9:30 pm. Meet at the Broadway gates. Have you ever wondered what happens to all the food in the grocery store when the "expiration date" arrives?Curious about just how much New York City wastes?Want to learn how to eat for free in the Big Apple? Yup, you read that last one right! Join the NLG and lots of other student groups in our end-of-the-year dumpstering tour extravaganza! The tour will be led by environmentalists from the Wetlands Collective, and will take us all around our Morningside Heights neighborhood. We will learn all about the environmental and humanitarian impact of our city's very wasteful ways, see the waste first-hand, and even stock up on groceries for those who dare! You may be wondering: Wait, food from the garbage, isn't that gross?If the food isn't gross, shouldn't I leave it for hungrier people?Why would anyone throw away perfectly good food?How can all of this food waste be prevented?Why aren't the stores giving all this food to soup kitchens?Is that illegal?Are you crazy?If you share any of these curiosities -- come for the tour and ask away!! The tour will be in our neighborhood, so you can meet up with us if you are late. Please feel free to forward this on to other Columbia groups/individuals who may be interested. Non-Columbianites are also welcome.

ARGH. This does NOT refer to people from Columbia, South America, by the way (or British Columbia, either - Canadians are far too sensible for this stupid shit). This refers to law students at Columbia University. NLG is the National Lawyers Guild, which kicked my law firm out of its ranks in the early 80s for being insufficiently doctrinaire and annoying because we represent capitalist collaborators, errr, I mean labor unions. Or some dumb shit. Anyway, this made me want to empty the contents of our freezer directly into the trash just to spite these little jerks. (I didn't because the food in our freezer is mostly freezer-burnt, so it would have accomplished some purpose, unlike this dumpster-diving excursion).

In other news, the Science Times this week has a special on Desire (code word for S-E-X) and wow, is it TMI regarding Jane Brody's sex life. Have you no sense of shame, Ms. Brody? Are you not a cold and reasoning scientist?

I have no studies to corroborate this idea, but I strongly suspect that older people who stay in shape physically, keep their brains stimulated and remain interested in a variety of activities are likely to feel more attractive and be more attractive — and thus more libidinous — than those who let themselves go to pot, as it were.

Yeah, okay, you are sex maniac, JB. Come back to me with actual scientific data, and not a "wink-wink, nudge, nudge" about your holiday weekend, please.

Here's the skinny on Ms. D in the photo below. She was minding her own business, heading into the grocery store when she notices a mob of reporters in the parking lot. She lifts her jacket over her head to avoid the rush of people, and Rudy G. yells out, "New York! You knew I would be here" or "Hey D, what's up?" or "I feel so welcome!" or something, and she says, "I didn't wear this for you!" And believe me, Deana (pronounced "Deee-Anna") sounded just like Mr. T when she said it, because she usually does. It's pretty D to call out a presidential candidate (but then run home and call her friends about it 3 or 4 times til they call her back).

The Iowan Voter

You really need to know Deana to know why this is so funny:


I guess now that she lives in Iowa, we can expect to see more of her with the candidates.

It's About Time

You will be relieved to hear that Marjorie Knoller and Robert Noel have finally had their law licenses revoked by the state of California. After only 6 years. Did their disbarment files fall behind the desk, or is disbarment in this state that difficult? In case you're wondering where the LKDFs* are now, she lives in Del Ray, FL, and he's in Fairfield.

*Mother-in-law, don't read this part. LKDF is Lesbian Killing Dog F***ers.

Look Who's Back

Well la-ti-da. I was strolling through The Science Times this evening, barely absorbing Natalie Angiers' "poetry", when who should I stumble over in the letters column. You got it. Mr. Marans is ba-ack. Today, Mr. Marans recalls his graduate years, and congratulates himself for not offing his thesis advisor. How Stuart Smalley of him to reward himself for his lack of felonious conduct.

Does This Roll of Fat Make Me Look Fat?

As I near Q's nine-month anniversary of birth, I contemplate the jelly roll two kids have left behind. The adage on pregnancy weight is nine months up, nine months back, but it could take a little longer over here, even if I continue to say that this spare tire is composed entirely of excess skin. I took umbrage at a stranger asking me when I was due last week, but then tonight Liam asked, "Do you have a nudder baby in there?" Time to make an April Fool's Resolution to get a gym membership.

I need to address a couple of other issues as well. For those who are just joining St. Scobie's, here is my post on the origin of the name of the blog. I invite you to begin at the beginning, and partake of bed races, Jack Roberts and all the haggis in a can you can possibly eat.

Congratulations to rockstarjenny for winning St. Scobie's Mock Brackets. If I ever have Smile Rockridge! T-shirts printed, you'll get the first ringer off the screen press.

Finally, thanks to Pat for bringing the Hilltop Legos Interdiction to my attention. It seriously out-Berkeleys almost anything I have heard lately. Suddenly the confiscation of my kid's aircraft carrier photos by a Broccoli Montessori teacher, sans deprogramming efforts, seems reasonable. I don't have the mental power right now to process all the soul-crushing bullshit in that article; attacking its wrongheadedness would be like shooting monkeys in a barrel (metaphor intentionally mixed). Can you imagine the world we'd live in as conceived of by these teachers? This is why places like AZone and college exist; it keeps all the "thinkers" together, away from young children.

Actual Irony

Ms. Morissette has completely redeemed herself with this:



It helps to see the original:



God, I hate Fergie. Fergie is the new Alanis, and Alanis rocks.

By Way of Explanation

That last blog post is, admittedly, incoherent. But its not because I was drunk or anything; I was typing it on my Blackberry (tm) in the dark, in a moving car, while trying to hold a conversation with a from-out-of-town friend ("JW"). As a reader to this blog, JW wanted to contribute, as all readers to this blog should. Thus the urinal dilemma, to which I have no valuable response, other than to again express discomfort with the notion of what happens in mens' bathrooms w/r/t the urinals. But I can't actually answer his question.



Another contribution of JW's was to ask to go to a rotating tourist bar in SF. While The View Lounge at the top of the Marriott does not technically rotate, the carpet will make your head spin. Or maybe its the all-over corniness of the place. Or maybe its vertigo-curing windows. Anyway, the place sucks, and demonstrates anew why SF is such a half-assed city. Even our worst tourist bar is just too lame to enjoy.

Guest blogger!

Okay, technically J W is not a guest blogger, since I'm writing this for him. But I will pretend to be him for the purpose of this post, I will pretend to be him.

When you go into a men's room where there's a urinal and a toilet but no divider, do you lock the door? Or do you ask they guy what he needs to do and let him in if its compatible? (AL- compatible is my word, not J's.)

Now we're going to either Sky Bar or a red sox expat bar, depending. This is live blogging at its blandest.

I Leave You With This

Before you go enjoy your weekend, I thought I would spoil it with a few things. Barack O'bama, heating it up Beach Babe-style.

And then prepare to kill many minutes and brain cells enjoying all the different name generators at Rum & Monkey. I like the Mormon Name Generator, but I think you'll also enjoy naming your penis, or the Damned Hippie Name Generator.*

If I were going to write a Name Generator, it would be a Jam Band Name Generator, but it would go like this: Pick any combination of the following words to name your jam band: Funk, Monkey, Cheese, Sandwich, Brothers and All-New. By the way, do they still even have jam bands anymore? Man, I hate jam bands.

* Jane Stillwater's name is Peace Juniper, by the way.

Good Times, Good Times

Up is down, left is right, hip hop is not cool anymore.

First of all, there's Karl Rove rapping. Sheesh. I'm not embedding the YouTube version because its too damn long. Second, I heard Gangsters Paradise on NPR this morning. Hunh?

Well, since Michelle Pfieffer is in the Coolio video, I guess its not that cool.

And speaking of embedding, a 64-year-old woman from Berkeley is flying to Kuwait with a sleeping bag this week to try to find a military unit to embed with. It's like Cindy Sheehan without a plan (or even less of a plan). Imagine yourself in that army unit, on the prowl for insurgents, and there's a Berkeley hippie lady in your Humvee. How psyched are you? Probably she smells a little like the pee-pee she refuses to flush*, maybe has her cat with her, definitely wearing a patchwork quilt item of clothing, eating peanut butter sandwiches. The most presumptuous and annoying part:

Money for Arabic translators? Unnecessary. "I've been all over the world," she said, "and you always find people who speak English."

Oh, no, wait. Maybe this is the most presumptuous part:

She's tired of getting news from TV journalists who throw on a khaki vest for a few photo ops before flying home first-class.

Umm, how many journalists have been killed in Iraq? 97

Journalists kidnapped in Iraq: 45

That doesn't include the injuries, or the media support people who have been injured or killed in Iraq. I am sure they'd be offended by her ignorant assumptions, if they weren't too busy doing legitimate reporting from the frontlines.

Bozo.

* Sorry to be gross, but this is based on an actual BHL that I know of.

I Know

In my heart of hearts, that its not okay to make fun of people, so I won't. But if you want to, email me and I will send you the awesomest blog I have seen today. I don't even want to post a link because I think the blog may be able to trace it to me, and I really don't want these people to think I am making fun of them, even though, in my heart, I am.

Overheard

Sitting in a bagel shop, listening to three electricians discussing the times that they, like Tony LaRusso, have fallen asleep at the wheel driving drunk.

"I was up at the club drinking hella hard mixed drinks, get out in my Impala and damn if I don't get up to the last light before my house and fall out. Wake up when a dude behind me wants to make a left. Look in the 'meer' and ohmigod if I was Tony LaRussa, I'd be in jail."

So uplifting.

Fresh Disappointments.

It's only Monday morning and already this week is full of disappointment. UNC is out of the Final Four, hurtling me to the middle of the bracket. My mother sent me "the article" about how day care destroys the minds of our next generation, hurtling me to a mental place of anger, disappointment, guilt, non-guilt, blame, self-loathing, and yet also, to work.

Finally, and possibly the most disappointing thing that I have learned in a long time:

Sammy Davis Jr.'s Candy Man is not a double entendre.

Sundry Thoughts

First sundry thought: blog entries are very hard to title.

Second sundry thought: Okay, bracketeers, there are some basketball games tonight, so stop pretending to concentrate on that Purchase Agreement or Modalities Matrix or whatever it is you are pretending to concentrate on, and browse incessantly over to the NCAA Men's basketball scores. Sheesh. Why am I the one who always has to remind you? Oh, right, because I am The Commissioner. If I needed any evidence that I need to remind people of things, the fact that my own husband didn't do any picks is Exhibit A.

Third sundry thought: Is Edwards caught in a Presidential catch-22 or what? The guy has decided to stay in the race, despite the fact that his wife has stage 4 cancer of the. . . body . . . and has 2 tiny children to love and care for. This makes him seem like an unelectable lout. So what's the only way he could overcome that, and seem loving and electable? If he drops out of the race. The only way to be winnable is to not run. Which is Al Gore's strategy, obviously. But how many people can use that and still (not) win?