I went for a walk to the grocery store just now, and passed a house where some hired hands were pulling weeds. It was a pretty big job, and they were still at it when I passed by on my way home. They had a radio blaring to help them pass the time, and were rocking out to the numbers station.
Neat.
Things are getting apocalicious over at metamorphosism.
No dental records exist for the pigeons, so they have not been identified
Get me while I'm cheap!
Buy me, sell me, trade me.
Who knew I was on Blogshares?!? Not me!
The number three is thought to be auspicious in North Korea and triplets are revered. It is believed they are likely to rise to positions of power, which accounts for Kim's insistence that they are all raised in state-run orphanages, where their development can be controlled.
Yeah, so, erm, what was all that about crazed dictators/weapons of mass destruction/abuse of his own people?
Awwww yeah: I am the number one sexy link
OK, the dolphins, it turns out, are smarter than that:
Petty Officer Whitaker could be seen yesterday patting the water, calling his name and offering his favourite fish, but there was no response.
Now that's a social studies project!
Five men have won the award since 1990 for feats (such as) being hit by a car while rescuing a koala.
That's some feat, but who knew they gave awards for that sort of thing? I can see it now, a row of judges off to the side of the road, waiting for the guy to execute his big aerial finish to the koala/rescue/car act, then holding up scoring signs. 8.75! 9.3! 10! 10! 10!
No, but seriously, now, the actual headline is Girl fights python to save kitten.
Which totally deserves high marks.
And to which you could totally sell tickets.
RE_INVIGORATE
They should call it Instant_EgoBalm
Ooh lookit! Hi, referring pals!
Thanks, JadedJu and Uffish Thoughts!
Why do I always get called for jury duty?
Every year, like frickin' clockwork.
So I'm minding my own business, pounding grommets into a corset while watching some vintage BTVS, when out of nowhere the television starts to mock me:
"You, yes you there, watching daytime action-adventure television. You must be some kind of daytime t.v. watching deviant, eh? Well, don't worry - you're our target demographic! We at Aladdin Bail Bonds are here to make you feel like a normal contributing member of society, just as soon as you or a loved one is hauled off to the pokey. And hey, if you're a very young 'urban' woman with a preschool aged daughter, we've got crayons, yo. And coffee, even."
Seriously. A t.v. ad for a bail bonds company.
A bail bonds company which doesn't even have a website.
And they're callin' me a loser? Feh!
In other news, Dubya had Freedom Toast for breakfast this morning, a new offering on Air Force One's menu.
I think it's time for a little reminder:
Britney hates with unparallelled fervor.
How did I end up the #1 hit on Google for allah akbar?
Doesn't someone you know need a pregnant spider?
Or a tiny piece of the Burning Man Black Rock Desert sky?
Or, mayhaps, some kitty fangs?
Also for sale: spooky glow in the dark skeleton hand gloves, and a baublerific Endora necklace .
They make great gifts, and stay crunchy in milk.
Smoove B works in the US Navy marketing dept:
"They will be given restaurant quality food and vitamins, and they will work out of wells which we've set up here."
When I met my dad as an adult, we marvelled over some of the things we had in common. For instance: I used to spend a lot of time in the Black Rock Desert, making wacky art projects. He used to spend a lot of time in the Black Rock Desert, making soldiers equipped to survive otherwise deadly hardships.
He was a desert and arctic survival instructor at Fairchild.
My mom called me, tonight, to remind me of that heritage after seeing the hundredth interview with a POW who gave credit to their survival training at Fairchild for helping them endure their experiences.
My dad wasn't around for most of my life, but having spent some time with him I'd now feel a lot safer making a month-long trek across the desert with nothing more than a single can of rations and a parachute. But I was usually lucky enough to also have water, sunscreen, sculptures,squirtguns, and probably some Clif bars.
I was just outside enjoying the perfect weather (70ºF with a light jasmine-and-salt-scented breeze), and my cell phone rang. "Oh!" I thought, "Maybe it's a prospective employer!"
I answered it.
"Hello, can you tell me your half hour rates, and where your in-call is located?"
Oh. Well. I was close, I guess. But. Ew.
"I'm sorry, sir, but yoooou have the wrong number."
"Oh. I beg your pardon. I'm sorry."
Extra funny because he was using the right coded language on the wrong phone but we both knew what he was talking about. But. Ew. No, I don't do, um, in-calls. Now who out there is turning tricks via a phone number similar to mine? Or did some sweet soul post an ad in the Spectator for me?
Choire gives good nose jobs.
Biggest surprise of the evening: Spirited Away!
Second: it was almost kind of relevant.
But man, those were the suckiest montages ever.
...the bones in your head are brutalized by a tone's full effect whether you're clutching the sides of your skull in agony or not. ''Besides,'' Norris says, laughing darkly, ''grabbing your ears is as good as a pair of handcuffs.'' ''Look at that,'' Norris mutters, ''She doesn't know what hit her.''
Oh my.
Now that was a party.
I mean.
Let it be known that not only is Min Jung gorgeous, she is wise and funny and some special kind of gracious. I could go on and on about how abominably cool every single person I met last night is, but it's probably pretty obvious. But yeah. Damn.
Welcome (to your new) home, Jhames .
Senate Votes to Shave Bush Tax Cuts
But I recommend waxing.
Oh yeah: Happy Vernal Equinox
Mmhm, sure is a day for rebirth and renewal.
Think I'll have a chocolate egg.
You know emotions are running high when goths take to the street in broad daylight!
Fine, fine work by Mister Steve.
See also Veterans for Peace
And wow, check out WhileSeated.org.
I just got back from Telegraph Ave, where all is somber.
On the way home, I found myself behind the creepiest truck. It had flags flying from both windows, a camper covered in signs and stickers, and a license plate that read "X PAGAN." Which, ok, whatever. The back window of the camper had "Know Fear" scrawled across it in white paint, and a stickers that said "The most dangerous place to be in America is in a Mother's Womb," "Abortion is Mean," and several featuring bloody foetuses with speech bubbles. The biggest sticker said "Rebellon against tyrants is Obedence to God" on a big white space over what was supposed to look like the signature of Thomas Jefferson. Thing is, while Jefferson didn't use Sharpies I think he did use much better spelling and grammar.
The centerpiece was a big black sticker that said "Darwin is DEAD and he AIN'T comin' back!" surrounded by those stick-on bullet holes. On his window. Like he'd been shot at, but I think he meant that he shot Charles Darwin. Which makes him some kind of revenant, I guess.
The guy seemed just plain confused. Sure was fun to gawk at, though.
Nothing like some Pax Americana when faced with the Unacceptable Face of Freedom.
What kind of hold is this?
Also, this photo makes me teary.
Not like blocking Fourth Street is making a huge difference in the state of world affairs, but look at him. He's doing his part, making his statement, there with his cane in one hand and dragging a newspaper bin with the other.
Forget the light shows on CNN; I'm staying tuned to Kevin Sites' blog.
Kevin gives good photojournalism.
There is no Burger King in Berkeley.
There used to be one, on University x Berkeley Square, and it was pretty good as far as those things go. They had really tasty tomatoes. A couple months ago it disappeared, and now there's a new fast food restaurant there, Curry in Hurry.
Love the missing article.
We went there last night, and got to watch the guys make our naan, chicken tikka massala, and lamb korma in the converted BK kitchen. Commercial tandoori ovens are neato, and the guy who makes the naan is a badass. I mean. Ouch.
It was tasty, cheap, and fast. Not as good Zaika (best Indian food on this continent, oh man), but better than Vic's Chaat House or Naan n' Curry. And what a cool crowd they had hanging out there. I'm definitely going back, if only for the kanji. Beetroot and carrot with honey, as a drink? Who cares what it tastes like, it's going to dye my mouth bright red!
OMG, I heard the funniest joke today. It made me laugh til I cried.
People are really pulling out all the stops to aviod crying in despair:
Justice Bans Media From Free Speech Event
Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia banned broadcast media from an appearance Wednesday where he will receive an award for supporting free speech.
Nuh uh, silly, that doesn't start for another sixty two minutes.
That right there is, um, taking up forward battle positions.
I got to do a good deed, today.
I was up on Telegraph and Dwight, in front of Krishna Copy, and saw this little old man inching towards the street from the SW corner. After half a light cycle and way too many tiny little shuffling steps, I walked over and greeted him.
"How about we wait for the next light cycle, and I'll walk over with you?"
He was exhausted, and let out this tiny puling "Take my hand?"
I put my crooked arm under his and he put all his weight on it. It wasn't very much.
"It's no joke," he said, "no joke any more."
Um. "No, sir," I said.
"Aging, I mean. It's no joke, I tell you."
"Yeah, mortality is not fair."
"Mortality - that's a good word for it." He chattered on and on, incredibly cogent, about what an existential downer it is to become fragile and infirm.
"I'm starting to feel it, and I'm barely 30," I said.
"Oooh, that's when it starts."
"Crap."
He gestured with his cane that his path was diverging from mine up ahead.
"Well," he said, as we neared the sidewalk, "I hope when you're 86 you can still do cartwheels."
"Thanks!"
In the course of our conversation, the man thanked me over and over for taking the time to help.
"Dude," I thought, "I get to be useful for like a whole minute, here. So shush."
"This battle will be the last war for Iraq for a while against any arrogant [power] and the last aggressive war launched by America against the world for a while. Oh, and: "When Saddam Hussein says he has no weapons of mass destruction, he means what he says," Saddam said.
What are you trying to say, there, Mister Refers To Himself in the Third Person?
'Cause it sounds to me like "Green light, go!"
Really, just say it if you mean it.
If only our administration presented these points as clearly as the foreign press. "As we enforce the just demands of the world, we will also honor the deepest commitments of our country." just sounds like so much doublespeak.
A friend of mine got 86'ed from a neighborhood bar in New Orleans, last night, because he didn't raise his pom-poms for the presidential address. This guy is the most gun-owning, drunken-Santa-encouraging, explosives-playing, moral and charitable and bar-patronizing dentist you're every going to meet. The proprietor called him, let's see, um, a "Nazi racist pussy motherf*cker." After agreeing to disagree, he bought the house a round and was told "Drink here, fine, but don't start spouting your faggot communist bullshit."
So he left. .
The cheers that followed him out the door included "Communist!" and "Faggot!" and "(N-word) lover!"
No, I'm not going to type it.
I haven't heard that term since 1981 in El Sobrante, where my redneck neighbor would shoot up my walls with shotgun shells, break our picket fence, use my kittens for dog training, then leave the gorey pillowcases hanging from our apple tree with notes bearing that phrase.
Well, you know I have never, ever set foot in El Sobrante since then.
New Orleans just moved down about 30 spaces on my list of "most interesting cities."
He wouldn't tell us the name of the bar, but he told us the owner's name.
Go on, guess.
Easter Candy redux: Lord of the Peeps
My back yard is full of St. Patrick's Day spirit. It's shamrock-rific, back there.
Just don't you dare try to chase away my snakes.
Once again, I direct you to Hi Monkey! for the low-down on the trefoil.
Oh, how I adore the Monkey.
As we enforce the just demands of the world, we will also honor the deepest commitments of our country.
Um. Do what, now?
You would think that the long story of blacks and Irish coming together would be well documented.
But of course it's hasn't been: history is written from positions of power, and there were neither Black nor Irish historians in the period in question. But it's a question that's come up for me a number of times. I can't wait to read that book.
Aahhh, Pleasanton: where life is simple and every little girl gets a new nose for her 14th, a new set of tits for her 15th, and a Lexus GX without turn signals for her 16th birthday. Still, I'm proud of them for getting out of their cars for something other than the walk across the Stoneridge parking lot.
From the wackiest spam of the week:
Animated .gifs are Signs of God.
The sun came out, this afternoon, and with the low pressure and sort of damp wind, everyone was feeling all spring-like and sexy. We went for a walk downtown and encountered quite a few people in various states of undress: the man who sunbathes in his driveway, up the street, and some sweaty hairy Son of Rare* looking guy. It was nothing as exciting as when the Naked Guy was around, but we did almost trip over this one couple, going at it right there on the corner.
Happy Ides of March
Try not to stab anyone.
Tonight, our Tivo decided to record Welcome Back, Kotter.
I find that troubling.
Mad Max has got nothin' on Asat.
I saw my first Amber Alert this morning, on Hwy 24.
It was kind of exciting: everyone slowed down just enough to memorize
"12yr old Girl Abducted
Brown Datsun 200ZX, 4XQT-something."
It was also a tiny bit creepy, reminiscent of the Handmaid's Tale, but that's probably me still reeling from yesterday's news . I can see it now:
Female, white, 20s-30s, ectopic pregnancy.
Blue '91 Miata, 4RST...
But let's hope, pray, cast spells, vote, whatever that it never comes to that.
And be on the look out, especially in SoCal, for that brown 1980 Datsun 200ZX with the 12 year old, 5' tall, 140lb. Mariela safe inside.
There's a big storm rolling in, and it's loud. The pressure is dropping so fast, your ears could pop. Whoosh.
While we have access to all sorts of fine, fine chocolate here - and always make sure to have some Scharffenberger close at hand - we both have a not-so-secret fondness for Snickers. Especially the mini bite-sized ones, which have just the right proportion of chocolate to nougate to peanuts. The "fun sized" ones have extra thick (crappy, milk-chocolate) walls. The regular ones are, well, 1/3 your daily allowance of calories and 100% of fat*, so forget that. But now there's a seasonal Snickers in the stores. Which, you know, must be tested. In the interests of science, I just bought a Snickers Egg.
It is nothing like a normal snickers, of any size. The chocolate is unremarkable, but once you break the shell there are all sorts of surprises. For one, it's not really an egg. It's halved. I think that's kind of cheating. But! Lo! There are actual roasty-tasting peanuts! And the caramel! It drips! It's gooey, like a caramel should be!
But what is this stuff they're calling nougat?
I know it from somewhere, from sometime...
Oh my gawd, it's totally Chick-O-Stick filling.
Who knew you could still get Chick-O-Sticks?
Antidote to all that's depressing me off today:
Twiggy at the Philadelphia Boat Expo.
Because I never, ever get tired of the water-skiing squirrel.
Frist is charting a different path as a committed conservative.
"The debate has gotten as ugly as I've ever seen it," said Senator Barbara Boxer, Democrat of California. "I'm very concerned about some of the words I have heard on this floor over the last several days," Senator Clinton said, saying Republicans had compared abortion to execution and murder.
Senators voted 60 to 38 against a proposal that would have allowed the so-called partial-birth abortion in cases where two physicians certify that a continued pregnancy poses a "grievous" threat to a woman's health.
And people ask me why I'm not trying to get pregnant.
"Good job on that domestic agenda, though, boy," he whispered under his breath.
Nooooooo, that's just -
OK, who's got a boat? I've got a basket on a stick, and piles and piles of carrots, let's go!
A practical guide to SUVs.
No, they frickin' dont.
They do?
I hate not having Kaiser. Sure, there are plenty of stories about how awful it can be, but those are from newbies; once you assert yourself and ask for what you want, they always come through. I had the best MD and ob/gyn there - in fact, they eventually became each other's patients - and I'm having a hell of a time even finding either sort of doc on my new PPO insurance.
I want someone who speaks English, who has more than a year's experience outside medical school, who won't condescend to me or sneak in charges for visits that never happened. Oh, and who will treat me instead of suggesting that I suffer quietly. I thought that wasn't asking too much. I was wrong.
That's right: this right here is your #1 source for handjob monkeys and monkey accessories.
Danny's got a case of AquaNet, and he's not afraid to use it.
(I think he's a tribble. And you know that's just trouble.)
From Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary (1913):
Pule \Pule\, v. i. [imp. & p. p. Puled; p. pr. & vb. n.
Puling.] [F. piauler; cf. L. pipilare, pipire, to peep,
pip, chirp, and E. peep to chirp.]
1. To cry like a chicken. --Bacon.
2. To whimper; to whine, as a complaining child.
It becometh not such a gallant to whine and pule.
--Barrow.
Help Rob help Carol De Los Santos generate interest in the word "pule".
How? By patronizing these and other fine eBay auctions.
It's gallery opening weekend, in these parts.
Today, we head up to Fair Oaks Village, the tiny, sidewalk-free town where I spent parts of each summer when I was little. There's an art gallery there, now, and my aunt is showing some paintings. I haven't actually walked down that tiny little boulevard since I was twelve, I think.
Last night was the debut of Maison Nouveau, a realty firm with a new office up by campus. The place is enormous, with arches and pillars and just so much space that they've hired my friend Brigid to run an art gallery there. The opening was great, and featured extraordinarily drinkable wines. Everyone go buy a house, or some artwork, from them, right now! Thanks.
When we were adequately tipsy, we went looking for food we'd never eaten before. That's pretty easy to do, here. I've got a small list of things I might try, some day, but really this sort of dining is more fun when played as a game of chance.
I've peeked into the windows of Long Life Vegi House for (no way) almost 20 years now but had never ever gone in. We did, last night, and dayumn. $17 got us three dishes, all heaped high enough to adequately feed four. Who knew that wheat gluten could be so tasty? And texture-y? Not me. Between the incredibly tasty, delicate, grease-free Chinese food and the spectacle of the entire restaurant staff entertaining a patron's cranky toddler, I was gigglier after dinner than I had been on a tummy full of cabernet.
And that diabolical gorgonzola/cream cheese/butter/pine nuts creation. Whoever thought of that should be punished. I hope there's something like it at tonight's gala.
Trefoil or shamrakh - either way, it's a cute plant:
Hi Monkey! on St. Patrick's Day goodies.
We were all set to get the hell out of Dodge at the end of the month, and head to our homes away from home (Amsterdam and Newcastle, with visits to Vienna and London), and I even found supercheap airfare, then >poof< of course there are projects with deadlines right smack in the middle of our trip.
And leaving any later means high-season prices, which are prohibitive. So it looks like we're grounded. I got to make a list of my favorite spots for a friend who's hitting the road, soon, and that was sort of palliative. For instance, I discovered that De Poezenboot has a new website. Furry, purry altruism, woet!
Look out!
Acerbia's got a Bug infestation!
Once upon a time, someone convinced me that I should tell them 100 things about myself. I could only come up with seven, but I stretched them out pretty well. These used to live on my About page, but that just creeped me out. So. Here they are:
Yeah, and no padded kneelers, either.
Amateurs.
It's finally here!
I thought I'd never see you again, precious Gun Club CD.
Hooray (finally, after almost 7 months of searching) for Gemm!
The deadline is coming up on my burglary insurance claim, and I still have not found replacements for my watches. I'd love to have my Softwatch back, and I really want another chronograph that shows the phase of the moon.
Those are hard to come by. The Exaequo watches have been out of production since, like, the 80s. Similarly, so many watches say "oh, yeah, moon phase," but really they just have a little sun icon that pops up in the daytime, and a moon and stars for the nighttime. Like you couldn't just look out the window if you were unsure. OK, I've had days like that, but still. I want a special 28-day gear.
This is one of the watches I've been, um, watching.
It's gorgeous. It's also, purtroppo, of the fakey lunar variety.
Above all, it is NOT SAFE FOR WORK.
Francis makes with the fascinating cultural tidbit: how February became the runt of the months.