What Makes the Season Special

Is fighting with a giant fake tree - without that, Christmas just isn't Christmas.

Below follows a guest post courtesy of an email from my father. For context, my mother found a ginormous fake tree in a catalog and then found some sort of storage thingamagic for the giant fake tree in another catalog.

Also, she is the only person qualified to handle the ornaments, though she will occasionally deputize others only after many years of experience and proven success moving ornaments from the tree limb into its proper box.

Subject: Storing the Christmas Tree

You won't believe the issue of taking down the Christmas tree (OK, you probably will believe it).

As I reported earlier, I started to take down the ornaments on the tree, but of course, I was doing it all wrong, and was chastised for my precipitous actions, so I deferred.

After the tree was properly denuded, it was a simple task to break it down into its three sections for storage. But wait, there is a magic storage system that was obtained from the latest catalog that allows you to store your tree with out taking it down.

First, you get some wrenches and put together a rolling cart. After that is done, you unwrap a canvas storage unit that is a cross between a body bag and a straight jacket.

You unzip and unstrap all the straps, and then you try to pull it up over the 14 ft. tree. However, the bag is only about 8 ft. long, so you eventually have to remove the top one third of the tree and set it aside.

Then you pull, tug, stretch, and grovel with the body bag, sweating and straining, until you finally get it up over the tree. It has now been about two hours since this simple procedure was initiated. Now you are ready to move it to the garage.

Remember, even without the top portion, it still weighs about 150 lb. Well, of course when you roll it out the front door, it tumbles down the steps and you are unable to lift it, so you sort-of drag it like a dead body away from the front of the house, and somehow get it back upright so you can roll it into the garage, where it now stands as a huge phallic symbol to Christmas Past.

Following this ridiculous exercise, I decided that a double Manhattan was called for, and the admission that perhaps this latest catalog adventure was ill-advised. However, I doubt if the deluge of wonderful items will end soon. I am contemplating an airline flight to the Bay Area unless there is a change of attitude.

Another Year [almost] Over

And what have you done?

Today I sorted through a box of old papers I'd meant to file years ago, papers, check stubs, bank statements, all sorts of crap that is now fit for the shredder.

Among the scraps I found a sketch I did almost 10 years ago of an *awesome* platform storage bed. This bed kicks ass, furniture-design-wise. Sure, I was hopped up on Prednisone at the time, but that doesn't detract from the genius of my design.

I'd had a wicked bad reaction to an Oil of Olay cleanser (heinous beta hydroxy acids) and when my face swelled up like I'd been stung by a thousand wasps, I hightailed it to the dermatologist who shot me in the hip with Prednisone, then sent me home with more in pill form. She said I might feel "hyper" or have trouble sleeping. And how!

I was sitting there on my futon sketching it out on a couple of pages: a 3-dimensional view with measurements, functional specs, the separate components and how they might be joined together, and how the platform for the mattress would have to be built to accommodate all the storage underneath.

This thing had a set of drawers along one side, drawers in the foot board, and bookshelves along the other side.

At the time, I lived in a sweet studio and while I loved the space, I was in constant need of creative storage, as well as modular units that could be easily rearranged to suit various space needs.

And the whole thing sits on big, locking casters, so you can roll it all around the room if you want to. I mean, if it's all loaded up with stuff as well as a mattress, you can't easily rearrange the furniture - it's going to weigh 400lbs. I was planning ahead.

Move it into the bay window during the summer, then move it back across the room in the winter. Roll it into the middle of the room and make it a buffet table for parties. It's so versatile, I want to build it and use it today!

We could get rid of a dresser and a bookcase and continually confuse the cats when the bed isn't in the same place they found it the day before. Sure, it requires a small step-stool to climb up into it, but we have high ceilings, so that's not an issue. You'll see I even included a step-stool in the drawing. I'm nothing if not thorough, and as you'll see, a very talented artist.

Now, where do I go to have a custom storage bed made?

Also found in the box for safekeeping, a quote from Clint in High Plains Drifter I'd written on a small scrap of paper: "It's what people know about themselves inside that makes 'em afraid."

Both treasures are staying in the box.

Inspiring Strength

NPR on Saturday is always full of interesting things, from the great tidbits I learn on Car Talk to compelling stories on This American Life and Soundprint.

On TAL this week they had stories about "being left alone." The story I really loved was about a woman and her two young kids back in the early 80s, who had been left alone by her husband who'd been dealing cocaine. He'd taken off and she had no idea where he was.

He'd been gone about a week when a thug from Florida came knocking on her door asking for him. He'd absconded with a kilo of the boss's coke and the boss was going to get his merchandise or his money.

The thug showed her his gun and said he'd come in and wait for her husband to come home. As the kids played in the yard, she let him in and later told the kids a friend of dad's would be staying with them for a little while. The kids thought it was exciting and fun to have dad's friend stay over.

She never showed any sign of fear or anxiety in front of the thug or the kids. She cried once in the bathroom the night the thug showed up, but never lost it again.

That first night after she put the kids to bed, they watched TV and the Godfather came on. She casually mentioned that her uncle was in the mafia. She noticed the thug seemed nervous after she mentioned her uncle. He called his boss in Florida to tell him they may not want to get involved with this woman and her husband because she was "connected." The boss convinced him to stay.

The next day, Miami Vice came on the TV and she mentioned that her cousin was a New York City detective. This made the thug even more nervous and he called his boss again to express concern about being involved in what seemed to be turning into a high-risk assignment.

Throughout the thug's stay, the boss would call every hour or so to berate and threaten the woman, thinking that might help smoke out her husband. Fed up with the boss's harassment, she told him if he had to have her and her children killed, so be it, that was out of her control, so he should go ahead and do whatever he had to do.

For days this thug stayed with her and the kids and she went about business as usual, never showing any signs of distress. One day, she convinced him to let her go next door for milk, and while there, called her good friend and explained what was happening and asked him to stop by the house, to show this thug that they were not alone.

The friend stopped by and the thug thought it must be her NYC detective cousin - he just happened to be wearing a dark navy t-shirt and pants. He excused himself to again phone his boss, now very upset about the position he was in. Somehow the boss convinced him to stay, but it was clear that the only person who was afraid in this situation was the man with the gun.

A day or so later the husband finally showed up with the money and a really good explanation that allowed the thug to call it settled and be on his way. Before he left, he apologized profusely to the woman for having put her through this, then took her hand and kissed it.

And yes, she left her husband after that.

Lance Armstrong is an Ass

And I know this because in a dream the other night, we went on a date.

What a colossally self-absorbed jerk. The whole time, all he wanted to talk about is when and how much I work out because this is all he cares about.

"So, when you get up in the morning, what's your first workout? Running? Swimming?" I didn't answer.

He asked me this question while we were out on a run together. And after the run, he got onto his bike to go for a ride while I swam in a river near the road.

And because I'm a badass, I was swimming fast enough to keep up with him on his bike. But I knew this would be our first and last date/workout/triathlon.

After the all-day workout, he took me to his parents' outdoor restaurant somewhere in dusty, rural Texas. It was a collection of picnic tables under a long tent.

I must say, his father is a lovely person - so sweet and friendly - I felt like I'd known him all my life. While Lance was working the tables like a plastic politician I was helping his father serve food & bus tables.

His father asked me how the date was going with a look on his face like he knew the answer he was likely to get.

I told him there was no way I could put up with an ass like his son after all the shit I'd been through in the past - it just isn't worth it. His father nodded in agreement and we said a warm goodbye.

David agrees that he's a total ass because he screwed up a relationship with Cheryl Crow. She seems so nice and so easygoing, he'd have to be an idiot to mess that up.

So, sorry Lance, but I have to ask that you never call me again. And my first workout of the day is pushing the button on the espresso machine.

(I know, quite a departure from the previous post, but Debbie Downer is a drag.)

G'Bye Satellites

Yesterday a friend called with very sad news. His friend is gone, by his own doing.

A horrible thing for him and the entire family - worse yet for the two little girls who will grow up without their dad.

We all used to work together some years ago. He was one of the smartest, funniest people I'd met. While talking about vacuum cleaners in a meeting one day he said "I want a vacuum so strong it'll suck the stink right off the dog," and I spewed coffee all over the computer keyboard.

Then there was the time when a strange, hilarious website called JustATip.com came out - a website that allowed you to anonymously provide numerous "tips" to friends and loved ones from recommending they prune their personal area to dealing with their bad breath or to stop swearing so much, and much more - there were many helpful tips to choose from.

One day, soon after a new art director started, I received a JustaTip that told me I should stop talking like a drunken sailor - it was becoming offensive and negatively affecting others.

I must have stared at my monitor for 20 minutes replaying the conversation I'd just had with the new art director, certain I'd kept it clean - I always did that at first. But there must have been something I'd said and now couldn't remember - jesus fucking christ what had I said???

And then he started laughing. He'd been watching the growing panic on my face and couldn't take it anymore. Bastard. I was two seconds away from running back to the art director to apologize.

He also used to tell a story about a retarded (his word, not mine) kid he went to grammar school with who did a report on satellites, except the kid yelled when he talked, so everything he said was hollered at full volume. It still makes me laugh every time I think of it.

Sadly, I didn't get to work with him as much as I'd have liked. He was much smarter than most and there seemed to be nothing he couldn't figure out.

And now. It's just tragic and senseless.

On one hand I think Coward - he took the easy way out. On the other hand, I can't begin to imagine how it feels to decide that's the only option left, let alone follow through to the ultimate end.

When I read about Spalding Gray stepping off the Staten Island ferry into the cold dark waters of the East River, I was angry. That asshole. He and his amazing gift was gone forever, and the most horrible thing I couldn't understand was how he could do that to his own kids, especially after he had to live with the aftermath of his own mother's suicide.

And now, two more kids are left fatherless. If your own kids can't give you that one last safety line to help you stick around, then there really must be nothing (in your own mind) left to live for. Really?

There's much more to it than this, I know. It's all just too incomprehensible. If shit's getting really impossible to manage, start cleaning house, in a hurry. Clean house, circle the wagons, and find the courage to make a path out of it. Easy for me to say, right?

But if you can't do it for yourself, do it for the people you'll leave behind, the people who will have to clean up your mess and deal with the shit you couldn't find a way to deal with. Think of someone else, and maybe that's the key to start fixing your shit.

I am Jack's wasted life. I am Jack's colon. I am Jack's broken heart.
And time moves on.

p.s. 02/20/08 - I've since learned that Mr. Satellites had a long, long struggle with mental illness and was likely bi-polar, but misdiagnosed, which explains a helluva lot. It's tragic to think that had he only been properly treated, he may have enjoyed a very long, happy life.

Merry Festivus!

Have a rockin' great holiday! Like Rooty, we're running behind this year, but that doesn't mean we don't love you.

We're thinking of you, and it's the thought that counts, right? Right. So enjoy all our warm, cheerful thoughts - we don't have them often.

And as a special gift, Nikita caught a moth and ate it for you - isn't she sweet? Now that's a gift from the heart.

OK then, have a wonderful Festivus and we'll be back soon.
Love to all y'all!

Electric Blanket Coma

These things are dangerous, and I'm starting to think, probably not good for your health.

On cold nights we've been "preheating" the bed, which is lovely, but instead of turning off the blanket after getting in, I'd leave mine set fairly low, on "3." (The settings range from 1 - 10)

"3" is just warm enough to feel deliciously cozy, but not too warm - it's hardly even noticeable. What *is* noticeable is the absence of icy cold spots around the body's perimeter, and that's nice.

The problem with "3" is, it's warm enough to #1, make it very difficult to get out of bed in the morning, and #2, slow-cook my brain.

On "3" blanket nights, I wake up feeling not groggy, but sort-of cooked. Definitely not clear-headed, ready to jump out of bed and attack the day. That rarely happens anyway, but when not using the blanket, I usually wake up feeling pretty good - refreshed.

So now, we preheat the bed but as soon as I get in it, I turn off that damn blanket. The other night we put it on a high setting for preheating and when we got in, it was like slipping into an incredibly soft, cushy hot tub. But I'm pretty sure it's not healthy to sleep in a hot tub.

Festivus Came Early

Last week I received the best Festivus gift ever - I reconnected with an old friend I hadn't seen in about eight years.

We'd slowly lost touch after we found ourselves in challenging new jobs and exciting new relationships. Without noticing it, we became ensconced in our own bubbles and drifted apart. Then I moved a couple of times, she bought a house, and time quietly slipped away.

Fast forward several years and I happened to reconnect with a mutual friend of ours. He then sent an email to both of us and you could almost hear the squealing sounds of excitement only audible to dogs and bottlenose dolphins.

After numerous emails we set up a dinner date. I drove into the city and couldn't wait to get there. I was so excited to see her. As she opened the door and yelled "HELLO!" it was like no time had passed. We talked so much that my dinner got cold before I could eat it.

It's hard to describe the elation and joy that comes from reconnecting with a quality person who was a true friend. It was like finding a part of myself I didn't realize I'd lost, a part of me I loved and needed, now with me again.

I couldn't stop smiling the whole night. I think when good people fade out of your life for whatever reason, they do take a little piece of you with them, whether you realize it or not, and you might only realize it when they're back in your life.

It felt like the beginning of a whole new chapter of life, not just a new beginning for an old friendship.

Usability - Not Just for Toilets

The other day on This Old House they visited a major bath fixtures manufacturer and I was impressed by their design methods.

It's not surprising they'd be so thorough - one seriously malfunctioning toilet could ruin their business. What was refreshing was their attitude and approach to design.

Thorough, comprehensive research and testing is the foundation of their business, not just annoying project plan line items holding up a product launch date.

Sure, you might say, it has to be - they make things that if not well designed, will sink (har har) their business. But that's true of most businesses.

No matter what is created or for whom, if the end users and good design methods aren't part of the process, it'll miss the mark and the company will suffer - from technology companies to toilet makers.

Before the fixtures manufacturer begins designing a new piece, be it a gorgeous pedestal sink or porcelain throne, they do extensive research to build upon past successes. Design styles or functionality users preferred (or didn't) in the past, or new, modern styles and features popular today.

Based on all the research, many sketches are done and from those, plaster prototypes are built to ensure what they've imagined can be successfully built.

From a proven, plaster prototype they make the porcelain piece and subject it to exhaustive quality testing. The acceptable failure rate is 0. Zero. It must test as 100% functional before they proceed with user testing.

Yup, that's right - they user-test new designs to gather customer input. That feedback is factored back into the overall design process.

I can't tell you how many projects I've worked on where little or no research was done before kickoff - even basic user/audience research. Or even answering the question, What's the goal of the xyz?

Most projects have severely limited budgets and timelines, but just a small amount of forethought and research can save time and money in the long run. Rushing something to market never works out well, so why does it happen?

Menopause ROCKS!

I can't wait for "the change." My body might already be prepping for the transition, but I'm psyched about the complete cessation of my menstrual flow.

I just read a great article about understanding menopause and I had no idea how big a change it will be.

Turns out, according to Berkeley gynecologist Risa Kagen (Nina Hagen?), "A woman may spend the last third to half of her life post-menopause; and it can be a life of quality including dating and new jobs."

All this time, all I'd ever heard about was the hot flashes, mood swings, horrible musicals, depression, potential weight gain, vaginal dryness, and ending up with a cupboard full of useless tampons.

I never knew that once you're in menopause, you can start dating again. David was surprised, too, but supportive as always. He said he'd be glad to take care of the house & pets so I won't have to worry about that when I'm out for drinks with my boyfriends.

Lawyers - What's Not to Like?

Before I begin, let me just say, I know not all lawyers are evil, useless gas bags who should be strung up and pelted with rocks and garbage. Just most of them, like these guys, especially for their hellacious website.

Really, kids, how hard is it to put up a simple website that doesn't reek of lameness? Someone's nephew should be able to help you out. Please. Put a flier on the break room bulletin board.

Anyway. After leaving a full-time job earlier this year I found I had time to get back to things I'd put off for quite a while. Like reviewing my credit report. I know, I live the high life.

I'd done this a couple of years ago and all looked OK, though there was one thing I wasn't sure about - something from a past life when I was married to a total and complete loser.

I collected and reviewed new reports and found that one thing that had been there before - a very old account I thought had been closed after the divorce (10 years ago).

Turns out, the loser kept the account open, ran up a small debt, and then later filed for bankruptcy. This one credit card was apparently the least of his financial worries. What a colossal dumbass.

The bankruptcy was filed in 2003. No one ever came looking for me to cover the outstanding credit card balance. It's just been sitting there, and since I don't go opening up new credit cards or applying for loans, it hasn't been an issue.

Regardless, I thought I would try to get this off my credit report. So I went spelunking to first track down a phone number for the reporting company. Found that, then had to find additional phone numbers to customer service departments, because the reporting company is the parent company of the actual credit card company and when the loser went bankrupt, the debt was purchased by another company, and that company is now represented by a typically sleazy law firm.

I finally reached someone who actually knew something about the account and they said because they're just a law firm, they don't report to the credit bureaus, so I'd have to contact the reporting company to request it be removed from my credit report. OK. I tried that, but they sent me to you. Making all kinds of progress now!

I sent a letter to the reporting company and they actually wrote me back a month later, informing me that the account balance was still open and only after it was paid off could they remove it from my credit report. Um, OK.

So, I called the law firm back to try to understand the actual situation. I finally spoke to someone who could adequately explain that even though a loser files for bankruptcy, it doesn't mean the account is purchased and paid - the debt still needs to be collected, but the loser gets a pass.

Knowing this, I made an offer to settle the debt so we could all move on with our little lives. I thought my offer was fair - it's not a big balance, but it's not my debt, so there's no way I'm covering the total.

After I gave the "paralegal" my offer, I could hear her working out the math to find out what percentage it was of the total, because the critical number is their cut of whatever they end up collecting. She was actually whispering to herself as she calculated the percentage. Then she said she'd take that offer back to her client.

Weeks passed. The seasons changed. Then this week I heard back. Her client would not accept my offer. I told her that was too bad, because that was as much as I was willing to pay to call this done.

I also told her I found it hard to understand that after all this time, after no one ever tried to contact me in an effort to settle the account, that a company wouldn't be willing to entertain the offer, especially when it was me who tracked them down in an effort to give them my money.

Then she tried to tell me something about how no one's collecting on this account, so it doesn't matter that I found them, they won't accept anything less than 60% of the debt. She kept repeating that they're not a collection agency, so "I don't know what to tell you."

I hope she really is a paralegal and not a lawyer, 'cause that's a whole lotta money to waste on an education if that's the best she can do - for her firm and her client. I explained again that this was only something I'd hoped to take care of, but if they weren't willing to accept my offer (or something closer to it), then I would just let it fall off my credit report in another year. It's been six years already, what's one more?

Then I told her she was probably hoping to get more so her cut would be better. She repeated that she was "just a paralegal." Yup. And I'm just a philanthropist hoping to help all the little credit card companies of the world.

And why won't "the client" accept less than %60 of this piddly balance? Here's why:
The law firm of Becket & Lee is dedicated to serving its clients by maximizing recoveries from their bankrupt portfolios.

The stupid thing (or 'stupider' thing) is that even 60% of the debt wouldn't cover one tenth of one percent of "Becket & Lee's staff of over 300... made up of lawyers, paralegals, programmers, technicians, managers, supervisors and processors devoted to making our clients' job of managing bankrupt accounts as simple as possible."

300 people? Sweet chocolate christmas, and not one of those people can build you a serviceable website? I think you could cull the ranks there, B&L, and maybe find someone who wants to resolve open issues instead of burn up your valuable, billable time giving people like me the runaround.

It's a good thing the laws were changed and it's harder now for losers to skip out on their debts and keep colon dwellers like these in business. But in the end, karma's a bitch, so one way or another, it all comes back around.

Yer Gonna Be Sticky

This morning I mixed up a new jar of almond butter and decided I'd throw in the very last of some honey that was crystallized - it had been sitting on the counter for weeks, un-squeezable in its solid form.

I was trying to scrape the honey out of the plastic bottle without letting it drip anywhere, 'cause if there's one thing that makes me crazy, it's sticky-ness.

As I maneuvered the little scraper in the bottle, it was inevitable - there's no way to work with honey without it dripping and within moments, your hands and fingers are sticky and there you are, sticking to everything.

It reminded me of an awkward conversation I had one day with one of Blue Shield's VPs. He's a really nice guy, but we didn't talk with him often and when we did, it was typical corporate chit chat and it was always just for a minute at the most.

One day he stopped by our area as a few of us were getting ready to head down to the Ferry Building's Farmer's Market. I was waiting for a friend to grab her wallet and the VP was hanging around in the main aisle.

He asked where we were headed and I told him, but I was nervous, 'cause I don't know the guy and we'd never tried a non corporate chit chat before. Then he asked what we were shopping for and I told him I needed to pick up more honey - this really good honey from a guy based in Santa Cruz.

At this point, I'm feeling like honey is the only topic we're going to cover, and my nerves get the better of me, so I start rambling on about how great the honey is and how you can taste every variety they have, and it's so good for you, blah, blah, blah, please why won't someone shove a toner cartridge in my mouth...

I guess because I'd been raving about it so much, he asked if I'd pick up some for him, and I cheerfully said Sure! Then I realized my friend wasn't yet ready to go and we would have a few more minutes of this strange interaction before getting anywhere near the safety of a crowded elevator.

The awkward conversation continued with me going on about how he wouldn't be able to wait until he got home to break into his jar, riding home on the train eating honey out of a jar with his hands. He was laughing along with my weird vision of his evening commute and then I said, "You're gonna be sticky!"

I can't tell you why I said it or what it even means. It just felt like the natural thing to say after imagining someone eating a jar of honey on a train. It made sense to me at the time. I'm sure at that moment he wondered how I'd passed the new hire drug screening.

Thankfully, just after I'd told a VP he would be sticky on his ride home, my friend was ready to go and the painful encounter was over. I did my best to avoid him after that and I'm sure he did the same.

Headache Update 12/07

I'm happy to report that our migraine-free trend continues for the second half of this year. There have been minor cranial annoyances in the form of sinus headaches or a-little-too-much-red-wine headache, and the good old standard tension headache.

But since July of this year, we've remained migraine-free. Coincidence?
Probably not.

I Drove a Pickup Truck

Yes, it was a big weekend - drove a Ford 150 pickup truck, and now I understand why people love their trucks.

Compared to my sensible little station wagon, that truck hauls ass, along with large items I couldn't houdini into my wagon. And I had way better visibility down the road - it helps to be tall.

At the root of all this is HGTV, a channel my friend "Jeannie," aka Shauna, says I shouldn't watch because they broadcast subliminal messages.

The only messages I'm picking up are "STOP LIVING WITH CLUTTER," "CLEAN UP YOUR HOVEL," and "IT'S OK TO GET RID OF UNUSABLE SHIT."

Jeannie thinks she gets messages like MUST GO SPEND MONEY AT HOME DEPOT. Maybe those messages are there, but I'm not receptive to them. I don't have any money and I hate Home Depot, so I should be OK.

Work had been slow the past few months and that led to hours and hours of HGTV while I went about de-cluttering the house and redesigning rooms to be more functional.

We dropped off a full carload of donations to Goodwill and now have more recycling than we have bin space - it'll take at least three weeks to dispose of it all.

And then I decided to get rid of an old desk that serves only as a clutter magnet and replace it with a computer armoire - at least I'll be able to close the doors if it starts getting messy. So onto Craigslist to search for a gently used solution.

Found a great piece and the only way to get it home - rent a truck. Unfortunately they don't rent gun racks, but the truck alone was great. It made it so much easier to get the armoire home and I got to experience the thrill of a V8.

Now we just need to rip up the old linoleum, paint, put in a new floor, then move everything back into my office. After only 6 years of having a half-assed room/office/storage space/nightmare, it'll be a place where I can actually work.

Soon I'll have Before and After pics to post.

Redesigning a House

So yesterday after breakfast I asked David if he wanted to hear my ideas for redesigning the house - my virtual tour of what could be - and for the most part, he thought it all made sense.

But boys are different than girls - especially when it comes to redesigning a house.

He thought the master bedroom would make a really great office - for him. It's the second largest room in the house - a nice big, square room that would make an ideal kitchen (compared to the glorified hallway kitchen we have now), providing ample room for long counters, cabinets, and a center island cook/work station.

Or, it would make an ideal boy's office/play room, with ample room for his big corner desk & cabinets, and the game set up on the other side. I can imagine what he's thinking and he's right - anyone would love an office that big. And it's right next to the bathroom - bonus!

But since we don't have a nice big budget or a team of workers, we reorganized the living room instead. This is always fun because he always comes up with an idea I didn't think of.

The trick is maintaining focus - not changing main goal of the room as we go - because sometimes his ideas drift into the land of "ultimate play space," which I think he would like to incorporate into every room in the house.

The one idea he had that I wasn't sure about ended up to be a great solution. I'd almost totally shot down his idea, but he convinced me to try it out. As I moved my stuff around to accommodate the new layout, I said, "OK, I secretly love this." He secretly loved it, too.

And while it's fun to talk about all the changes we might make to this place, we also think about the ease of just moving to a house with a better layout and one without a mental case across the street. I think we're leaning toward the reduced mental case option.

Shopless Friday

And what a lovely day it was. Slept in after staying up too late - we were wondering, lying in bed at 1:30am wide awake, is ham loaded with amphetamines? - and spent the whole day in our sweats catching up on reading and listening to music (or playing lots & lots of games, because that's someone's job and he needs to stay current on all things gamey).

And in the afternoon, I took a nap. Then I had some pumpkin pie & coffee. Then I did some dishes and after that, read some more. Didn't leave the house, didn't buy one single thing - not even online - and we won't be shopping for any Christmas crap.

This will be our third year of Festivus with our added feature of the "No Stuff Christmas," which means no store-bought gifts of any kind. The exceptions being gifts of consumables and even better, consumables bought from companies that do good things for the world, like Greyston Bakery and Jennifer's Homemade- different Jennifer, but just as fantastic.

Better still, no "gifts" at all other than the gift of getting together for games like Celebrity Taboo or Who Took My Pants?

Thanksgiving Already

Crapatoa - it was just summer a few weeks ago. On one hand, I don't mind, because with Thanksgiving, Christmas and the New Year all flying by in a blink, it's that much faster we'll be back to springtime and summer.

I like the golden light of late afternoon summer sun, not needing a jacket, wearing flip flops everywhere, iced coffees, and the smell of grass after it's baked in the sun all day. I don't enjoy being cold or the short days and long nights.

But in the spirit of Thanksgiving, there *are* things I enjoy about this time of year and life in-general, so here's my list of what I'm thankful for, in no particular order:

• espresso at the push of a button
• friends who make me laugh so hard I cry
• Jeff & Randy's amazing hospitality
• cozy fires and hot cocoa
  
• Dennis Richmond
• our Tempur-Pedic mattress
• smart coworkers
• The Onion
• rescued cats
• Henry, the talking bird
• fizzing codeine
• my car with heated seats
• bands like Cake and Weezer
• Timothy Olyphant
• books that make me laugh out loud
• making pictures
• Wal-Profen
• vitamin C
• working at home
• living in one of these
  
• supportive, funny family
• KFOG radio
• good health
• Calvin & Hobbes
• Dottie's True Blue Cafe
• La Mer products
• David's bizarre sense of humor
• being regular
• the interweb
• Charlie Day
• Steve Carrell
• Stephen Colbert
• Bret & Jemaine
• chocolate frosted chocolate pop-tarts
• water
• Life in Hell
• very good tequila
• good clients
• Dean & Deluca
• swimming pools
• Louis'
• room service
• Mr. Toots
• guilty pleasure TV
  
• happy hour @ Schmick's in Seattle (PDF, 77KB)
  
• faded 501s
• UGG boots
  
• Bronx Beat

I'm sure I'm forgetting many other things, but this seems like plenty for now. Happy Thanksgiving!

BLAAAAAART!

I just read a great story by Rooty about a metro performer, the likes of which I don't think has ever graced the rails of our systems.

The best "color" I ever experienced on a Bart train packed with tired commuters on their way home one dreary night was from the train operator himself.

After he made the usual announcement about the current stop and that the doors were about to close - words you don't even hear because you've heard them a thousand times - he said, as we were about to enter the transbay tube, "Sit back, relax, and enjoy a smooth cruise through the groove tube."

From where I was standing I could see many faces look up from their books and newspapers with quizzical expressions as if they were thinking, Did I really just hear what I thought I heard? I'm not sure, but I think that's what we all heard...

I don't know if I ever rode on his train ever again - that was the only time I heard his fabulous late night FM deejay-tastic announcement.

My friend Miriam enjoyed a whole other type of color on Caltrain one night, and I'm sure I don't remember all the details accurately - forgive me Mir. But to summarize, she ended up seated near a guy traveling with a tool/tackle box, sprawled in a double seat by himself.

He'd been drinking from a bottle he was keeping in the tackle box and between pulls from his hooch, would doze off in his double seat.

When the train shifted or something else disturbed his nap, he'd shout with a slur, to no one in particular, "I'M OKAAAY!" or "I'M ALLLRIIIIIGHT!" and then go right back to his nap.

After Miriam shared this story with us one day while working at the shield, it became part of the department lexicon and at any given moment you'd hear an overworked interaction designer shout, to no one in particular, "I'M OKAAY!"

My Cuticles Hate Me

I can't stop tearing up my cuticles. I hate my cuticles and they hate me.

The other day I thought I was taking off just a little dry sliver and in half a second part of my finger was gone. Gajeebus that hurt, and it wouldn't stop bleeding/oozing. What the hell had I just done? What is wrong with me?

I slapped a band-aid on it and went about my day. The next night it was throbbing like a mother sister, and sure enough, it was infected. Not only am I stupid enough to tear apart my own finger, I'm even 'stupider' to not properly clean it up.

What if now I needed a tetanus shot!? Don't those hurt worse than the injury itself? What the hell *is* tetanus? Last time I got a physical my doctor told me I should really get a tetanus shot and I asked why.

He said if it had been more than 10 years since my last one, it was time for a booster. I asked why again. He said I should have it. I said No, I'd really rather not. That was four or five years ago. He hasn't brought it up again since. I go out of my way to avoid rusty nails and deep puncture wounds.

I found the hydrogen peroxide and got it all cleaned up, then 'neosporined' it and it's healing well. And so far, no symptoms of lockjaw or cranial spasms, other than the usual.

I'm a Falconer...

...Of sorts. Henry and I have a new trick.

I was cleaning in the bar the other day and Henry was on his play perch in the front room. He really wanted to be where I was, so he flew the 30 feet or so to me from his perch, but couldn't quite figure out how to land on me or my hand, so he made a u-turn in the air and flew back to his tree.

Last night I'd been working in my office for a spell and when I came out into the bar, in he flew, right to me, but this time he landed on my hand when I held it up!

I was so impressed with his new skill, I practiced with him today to see if he could do it again. I stood in the bar and called him, and after just a few calls, he took off and flew right to my hand. Then I sent him flying back to his perch by saying Go home! and he flew right back to his tree.

We did this a few times and he never missed, which is impressive when you consider he's had very little flying experience in his nine years. He's almost always clipped, but after this last molt, I let him continue growing out all his flight feathers.

I don't like getting him clipped when he hasn't grown out all his feathers - there's always the risk that they'll cut a blood feather and then it's just a stress-fest until they get it pulled. Gah - no thanks. I'm sure he'd agree.

For the past few months he's been flying around the house now & then, which isn't really a good thing, because there's always a chance he could fly into a wall, a window, or an open toilet or some other hazard, but I've noticed he is really agile and able to maneuver well around doorways and avoid the ceiling fans.

He needs to be clipped, but this is way too much fun!

No End to the Bob-ness

This week brings us another installment in the Crazy Neighbor Bob Chronicles, because we know, CNB Fans, that you've been anxiously awaiting the next chapter.

Last Wednesday I spent half the day in Santa Rosa on a photo shoot, most of that time in the car to and from. On the way home, my Check Engine light came on, and even though I checked the engine and all seemed OK, it was stressful driving home. I called my mechanic on the way and got on their calendar for first thing the next morning.

Bear with me - there is a Bob story in all of this.

When I arrived home late in the afternoon, I gathered up all my gear and a few other things I didn't want to leave in the car. My arms were full of bags and jackets and things as I made my way into the house. With all the schlepping and worrying about my car, I paid no attention to the yard.

The next morning I walked out of the house at 7:30 and saw that a large area of the yard near the front of the house had been weed whacked, and in the process, a once-thriving rose bush had been destroyed as well as a garden light.

I stood there, mouth agape, for at least 5 minutes, feeling the anger boiling up inside me. Goddamn that lousy piece of shit. He'd done it again. After I told him in no uncertain terms we could not allow him to come into our yard and do any yard work, especially when we're not at home. I picked up the broken light and chucked it onto the lawn where I could pick it up when I got home.

Angry but unable to do anything about it at that moment, I got into my car and let it warm up. A minute later my other neighbor came out and I asked her if she'd seen anything. She hadn't, but said that the likely culprit was right across the street.

I drove off to my mechanic filled with frustration. Not only was our yard chopped up, but now I had to talk to him again, something I never enjoy. And if you ever find this post Bob, I don't like talking to you because you're rude, you don't listen, and you make me and many other people uncomfortable.

Walking home from the Bart station I saw him driving up the street in his stupid truck. He waved and I raised my hand in return and kept walking. He returned home about an hour later and I went over to talk to him.

In my nicest, non-teeth-grinding, happy voice I asked "Hey, are you my mystery weed whacker?" to which he blurted out, "What? I didn't take a weed eater out of your yard!"

What? That was an interesting response, seeing as how the last time our yard was attacked while we weren't home, I told him we couldn't allow him to do that, and a few days later our weed eater was stolen out of our yard. We'd never had anything stolen out of the yard before and haven't since.

Anyway, to continue the saga... I said No, this wasn't about a weed eater, but had he taken out the weeds or did he see anyone in our yard taking out the weeds, along with my rose bush and garden light. He said it wasn't him, but "some old guy, I think his name was John, who knew your grandmother."

Really? Really?

I said, Really? So an old man who knew my grandmother, who would have to be at least in his 80s and perhaps in his 90s - an old man we've never seen or heard of before, walks around the neighborhood with a super battery-powered weed eater to do yard work for former friends? Really?

He repeated this bullshit about an old man named John and his weed-eating ways, and how John also picked up all the leaves and put them in our green bin, saying, "We shouldn't let this green bin go to waste!"

Our green bin, that is, which isn't "going to waste" when it's sitting in our yard where it belongs, where we use it when we need it and pay the city to empty what WE put it in it, not what other people put in it, you stupid asshole.

I smiled along with this crazy bullshit, talking about "John" with him like this old guy actually exists, and asked him to please tell "John" next time that he can't destroy our yard and he needs to come talk to me. And then I walked away.

Such a lame ass lying weasel. It was a whole new low. Who, besides the mentally ill, waits for his neighbor to leave, then sneaks across the street to mow down a small patch of insignificant weeds and in the process, destroys a beautiful rose bush and breaks property, then LIES about it when asked about it? What a dick!

The kicker was, after I left that morning to take my car to the shop, he sneaked across the street AGAIN to prop up the broken light about where he thought it belonged, as if I wouldn't remember that it was actually broken. What a total dumbshit!

So, without proof or a witness, there's nothing I can do. But that afternoon I went outside and dumped all the leaves into the street, kicking them forcefully off the curb, making a nice big pile he'd surely see. Then I posted a sign on the front of the house:

To John, Who Knew My Grandmother:
About the unsolicited yard work ­— we must ask that you never do it again. You’re trespassing.

We don’t know you and have not given you permission to use your weed eater to destroy our plants and break our garden lights. Next time you’re seen doing such a thing, we’ll call the Boys in Blue and they can help you find a new hobby.
Thanks, The People Who Don’t Know You.

Good times, eh?
Bloody hell.

Happy Friday

I Blame Drugs

It can't be that I'm incredibly stupid - it has to be something else. I blame drugs and Mark Knopfler.

I woke up this morning with what felt like the start of a crushing migraine or sinus headache, so I took a decongestant (from Canada, of course) and a few advil. Thankfully, that was all I needed and the headache dissipated.

And instead of a headache I now had slightly impaired motor skills, 'cause the pseudoephedrine makes me a little shaky. It also makes me a little drowsy, but nothing a strong cup of coffee can't help, which is good, to add a big dose of caffeine on top of the pseudoephedrine. I'm smart like that.

So, with my head taken care of, I began to prep for an afternoon meeting in Larkspur. I successfully assembled all the materials I wanted and then tried to unwrap the Knopfler CD I bought yesterday.

Big thanks to Borders for not removing the theft-prevention, fort knox plastic encasement. I've only waited weeks to get this CD, why would I want to actually open it or listen to it? I tried a screwdriver (the tool - later I would need the drink), then a hammer, then it was David's turn.

He chose his weapon wisely - wire snippers. Cut right through the stupid plastic, then it was just a matter of peeling off the stupid sticky tape thing at the top. Because you have to have both - the hard plastic encasement isn't enough deterrent - you must also have the annoying, only-comes-off-in-maddeningly-tiny-strips sticky plastic tape.

With that frustration behind me but not forgotten, I got ready for my meeting. After getting all cleaned up & dressed, I decided to wear tinted moisturizer sunscreen. It helps me look not so pasty.

I have two shades of the same brand - one for summer, one for winter - and since it's not quite winter, I tried to make a blend of the two. I thought it looked OK in my hand, then I put it on. Instead of a very subtle tanning effect, it made me look slightly jaundiced. I put it on anyway.

Out the door right on time, I was on my way northward. Traffic was OK - not too stupid - just me. When I got close to the office, I realized too late that it was on the other side of the street and I was in the lane that forces you to get on 101 north.

Onto the freeway I had to go. I got off at the next exit, hoping it would loop back around where I needed to be - it's all messed up over there - freeways, onramps and offramps all thrown around willy nilly in a crowded mess.

Thankfully, I did get back to where I needed to go, with a close pass right by San Quentin - how exciting! - and when I got to the stoplight, of course there's no left turn, because there's a freeway exit directly to the left and other oncoming traffic lanes all chucked together. And, even better, the stoplights weren't working, blinking red, so traffic was backed up for a half mile in every direction. Sweet!

I finally made it over and back and around and into the parking lot, only a few minutes late to my meeting and they were totally understanding about the traffic mess. And they're all so nice, they didn't even comment on my jaundice.

Nothing to See Here

Kitty seems to be back to normal, perhaps eating a bit more than usual as if to show me, "No appetite problems here! Everything's fine - I feel great - look how much I can fit in my mouth! I LOVE kibble!"

The vet called this afternoon and it was all good news - blood work came back normal, urine screen was fine - everything looked OK. Still don't know what it might have been or if it was really worth the ordeal she went through, but I guess we know for sure nothing serious is going on.

I'm sure she never wants to return to any vet at any time ever again - never ever. Maybe tonight she'll put on a play and show us how many push ups she can do.

Because I Don't Speak Cat

I had to take my baby kitten to the vet today because she wouldn't tell me what was going on with her. She was fine yesterday - playful, healthy appetite - her very normal, sweet kitty self.

This morning, she didn't get up for breakfast, something she (and the boys) are always excited about, because they get Greenies treats with their food. And she spent all day at the end of our bed where she slept all night.

Rather than take any chances, I took her in. I hope it was worth the turmoil. Some might think me a bad mother, but I don't take my kids to the vet very often - hardly ever, really.

They're exclusively indoor cats, we feed them the healthiest food we can find and they're well taken care of. And thankfully, being the mutts they are, they have hearty little systems and they're all still young.

But Nikita sometimes eats things she shouldn't, like strips of paper, carpet fibers and now & then, she tries to eat my hair. With her occasional cookie-parking, I couldn't help but wonder if she ate something and was in trouble.

After the undignified temperature taking procedure by the technician, the vet came in and started the exam. Then they took her in the back to get a blood and urine sample. While waiting, I heard what sounded like a wicked cat fight in the back and I wondered what they were doing to some poor cat. Then I wondered, could that be my sweet little kitty who still meows like a kitten???

Annnd yes, it was. Today I saw my loving baby turn into a hell cat, ready to kill anyone in a white coat who came near her.

After the first time they tried to take blood, she put up a great fight and they backed off. Then the vet came to talk to me & told me she (the cat) had reached her limit for now, but they'd try again in a little while. I asked her to please continue in the exam room with me.

They brought her back in and I helped keep her calm while they took blood from both her back legs, because the one they tried the first time had a smaller vein and they weren't getting enough. Ugh. Then they gave her subcutaneous fluids. Then they gave her a shot of antibiotics just in case, while we wait 24 hours for her blood work to come back.

During her struggle in the back she tore a claw, which was bleeding by the time they brought her back into the exam room. I can't imagine how frightened she must have been. I'm so, so sorry sweetie. But what else could I do? I don't have vet care facilities at home, nor do I know anything about veterinary medicine.

After her horrible ordeal, she zoomed back into her carrier and as soon as she was inside it she turned to kill anything coming near her. It was scary and impressive. My little fizzle whisker, squeasel, baby kitten sweet Nikitakita, a crazed vet killer. You made mommy proud.

And now we wait to see what the blood work and urine tests have to say. I say there has *got* to be better ways to treat small animals in this day and age.

What was great to see was as soon as we got home she made a beeline for her food dish and tore through a good portion of kibble and later, a small amount of yummy wet food and she's kept it all down. I think she'll be OK. She has to be.

Incrediflucky

Today I went shopping at the Nob Hill Foods to pick up ingredients for a pumpkin bisque. I don't enjoy grocery shopping, so I like to get in, get what I need and get the hell out.

I was moving at an efficient clip from one end of the giant store to the other and back again making sure I found everything I needed. I'd jammed my wallet into the front pocket of my pants and it wasn't very comfortable there as I speed-walked through the store, but I was intent on getting out of there as fast as I could.

I found everything I needed in record time and was happy to be done quickly and on my way home to make a bisque.

Rather than wait in line for a human checker, I used the robot check out & scanned my own stuff. I was glad I remembered how to enter the produce codes instead of trying to look everything up in the computer. In just a few minutes I had all my stuff scanned and bagged.

And then it was time to pay. I checked my pocket - no wallet. No fucking wallet. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit SHIT. HOLY SHIT. MY WALLET IS GONE. I was flipping out, ever so subtly, with all my shit scanned, just sitting there... I started to panic a little.

I found a guy behind the customer service counter and told him I'd just rung up all my stuff and realized I'd dropped my wallet. At that moment, one of the checkers came up and called me by name and asked if I'd lost my wallet.

She said they'd been paging me, but I was so focused on being a good cashier, I never heard it. A customer had turned it in just a moment before, but he/she was already gone and I couldn't say thank you. I couldn't believe how lucky I'd been - incredibly fucking lucky - incrediflucky.

Thank you, kind soul, who found my wallet I'd stupidly tried to jam into a shallow pocket and thank you for turning it in immediately, saving me from a heart attack and stroke right there in aisle 1. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you.

And the bisque turned out wonderfully.

Cats Are Needy

Which means, it's a good thing I don't have kids. What is up with three cats all needing attention from me when I'm trying to work, watch compelling guilty-pleasure television, or use the bathroom? The whole point of having three of them was that they could bond with EACH OTHER.

Things haven't worked out according to that plan. Each thinks he/she is the only cat, or should be the only cat and demands attention throughout the day and will not be ignored. If they had thumbs they'd be throwing things at me and breaking my shit.

Every time I'm on the phone they demand more attention and then the bird joins the clamoring chorus, yakking along with me in his unintelligible dialect. People on the other end of the phone think I have boisterous family visiting because he sounds like me, only louder and more garbled.

Neo, the street kitty who now resembles a small bear cub demands (and gets) lap time, which involves rolling around while I vigorously scratch his thick noggin and then he starts to climb - first up into my armpit then up the front of my shirt, purr-meowing the whole time, coating my pants and shirt with fur. Swell. When he hits overload limit he gets dumped onto the floor and I get to go wash everything he's touched - he makes me itch, that one.

The others aren't as bad, but they still get mouthy and clingy, instead of being cool, detached and aloof. Where are *those* cats? Those are the kind of cats I need.
Can you imagine if I had kids? Yee-ikes.

Gerry vs. Gerry

I watched the movie Gerry yesterday and I don't know what to think. Interesting, weird, quiet, moody, sad. And I just kept thinking, how could you be so stupid to not only lose your way, but go out for a hike without any water? Who does that?

And were there really two Gerry's or was it like Fight Club - one fractured Gerry? Why does Gerry 1 strangle Gerry 2 at the end? Sorry, if you haven't yet seen it, but I'm not spoiling too much. It happens, but there's no clear reason why, or if it really did happen (that is, if Gerry was MPD, he solved that problem, but no one was actually "strangled").

The whole thing was weird. I think I liked it, but mostly, it bothered me. It's not easy to sit and watch the very avoidable demise of two perfectly healthy young men.

Robitussinnnn

Mmm... I can't focus my eyes right now - any of the three - but I'm not coughing up a spleen, so I'll take the compromised vision.

Last week David brought home a nice cold from work, which I thought I had dodged and was feeling so superior, and then Sunday night the sore throat set in.

I still feel superior 'cause I'm getting over it faster than he is, but it's still a drag. What is with the throbbing headache advil can't defeat? Why does that have to be thrown in on top of swollen sinuses you can't blow anything out of, yet are able to slowly leak snot onto your pillow?

This morning I kept drinking the cough syrup til I thought I'd had a sufficient dose. It's supposed to be non-drowsy, but I think if you triple the dose, it's not as non-drowsy as they'd planned and a third eye grows into your forehead. I need to lie down.

Almost a Rocket Scientist

My fluffy little parrot apparently isn't just a pretty feathered face. I gave him an animal cracker cookie this morning, because of course he loves eating cookies the shape of elephants, monkeys, and most of all, CATS.

He took the cookie and immediately dropped it into his water dish, waited a couple of moments, then picked it back out and commenced eating it.

Turns out he likes them a little softened up and knows exactly how to make that happen. Now if he could only start doing the dishes and my laundry.

Update: I gave him another cookie this morning (Friday), and he was on his play perch, which is next to his cage. He took it and walked over to his cage, up onto the top, over to the water dish and dropped it in before munching it down. Now he won't eat them any other way. I love it.

Another Update: The other day I gave him a cookie dipped in coffee - what a mistake. You have to give him credit - he's got quite a palate.

I Love Gordon Ramsay

Not like I love the new weather guy - I love Gordon Ramsay because watching him is like watching a car chase through crowded streets. And he's funny.

That, and who doesn't love watching some poor bastard be emasculated on every show? Why do *I* seem to enjoy that so much?

His new shows, Kitchen Nightmares (UK and US versions) are brilliant. He wouldn't be a "restaurant tycoon" if he didn't know something about running that business.

But the poor saps he finds who are struggling to stay afloat are incredible. The pompous managers who love using the restaurant as their social playground - those are the best fodder.

Last night, the manager served Ramsay his lunch and back in the kitchen told the chef/owner how intimidating it was to wait on him. Moments later he tells the camera in the "confessional" shot that he's not intimidated by anyone, no matter who they are.

Then later, he cried. Many times. It was so hilarious. A total ploy for attention and of course, he was ridiculed.

It's a challenge to keep up with the dialog since so much of what Ramsay says is bleeped. " Bleep all, I bleeeeep bleep your bleeping bleeeeeeeeeeeep."

And then I wonder, if he's married, what must that be like when discussing typical marital issues like, say, finances or chores. Or what if, god forbid, his wife forgot to do something she said she'd do - does she just not come home? That would probably be my decision.

Write Whatcha Know...

Whoever said that wasn't kidding. Man, yesterday was a shit day for writing, and I wasn't doing so well with my camera, either.

But back to the words... I had some uncomfortable blockage in my brainial colon while trying to rewrite an article for a client on a topic I don't know much about and for which there's limited information to work from. Here's a shot of me working on it:


I struggled with the article, then I struggled with my camera to practice what I learned last week in Chicago. It was not a good day, and I wasn't even fighting a headache or other ailment - my brain just wouldn't function.

So, I had some cookies, watched some TV and went to bed early. Oh, and at one point in the afternoon I yelled (politely) at Crazy Neighbor Bob to turn down his stupid truck stereo he was blasting while sweeping leaves off his front porch - and it wasn't anything good he was playing.

Who does that? Who plays his car stereo so loudly it's louder than a radio playing inside your own house? What a jerk. No, Bob, only you enjoy quasi-country-pop tunes played loud enough to be heard in Fresno - the rest of us would like to make our own listening choices.

But I'm happy to say today was much better. I re-shot the photos and I think I'm back on track, I *think* I successfully reworked the article, and I have not yelled at any neighbors, but it's still early.

I Love the New Weather Guy

The weekend weather dude on KTVU - Byron Miranda - he is fantastic. I don't know what he knows about meteorology and I don't care.

During an evening news broadcast a few weeks ago as the school year was starting up, the news anchor passed the baton to Byron, asking him to give the back-to-school forecast for the upcoming week.

The camera cut to Byron and he said, and I'm paraphrasing only a little: "That's right kids, stay in school or you'll end up a weather man like me... not that that's a bad thing... I've had a lot of jobs... I was an Oakland cop for a while... they called me Barney Fife... I didn't like that too much... So, let's see what tomorrow's weather will look like..."

It was the best, weird weather intro train wreck I've ever had the pleasure to see on live television. This guy's always seemed a bit weird, but this was above and beyond. I was howling, wondering if he was going to be fired before the end of the broadcast, but no - he's still hangin' on.

Prior to this, his most annoying habit (to me) was repeatedly saying, "So when you head out to Starbucks in the morning for your latte, you're going to want a [sweater] [jacket] [scarf] [etc.]." I thought he must have Starbucks stock.

He's not doing that very much anymore, but it's always exciting to see what his next lead-in might be. "That's right Ken, drug use is a big problem in our country - I've been on meth, H, and the cracked cocaine... So let's see what tomorrow's forecast looks like as you head out to find a hit..."

"Thanks Ken... that toy recall is scary business... That reminds me of a toy I had as a boy - a big, beautiful yellow Tonka dump truck I played with every day, filling it up with my mom's Lee Press-On Nails and dumping them in the backyard... Let's see what tomorrow's forecast looks like as you head out to your local nail salon for that sweet manicure..."

There's some fun chatter on the interweb about Byron and other stations where he's delivered these strange forecasts - sounds like it's always been his unique style of delivery.

This was his last, very serious SEVERE WEATHER TEAM:

WE ARE SEVERE AND THE WEATHER IS SEVERE AND YOU WILL DEAL WITH THIS REAL, SEVERE SEVERITY AND THE DUDE ON THE RIGHT IS OVER 8' TALL AND WILL CRUSH YOU LIKE A BUG.

Then they photoshopped him out, which just seems cold (and lazy) and the dude on the right came down to just over 7' tall:

And then they became Men's Wearhouse spokesmen with the guy in the middle still a big bigger than his colleagues, clearly bigger than the guy on the left - no doubt as to who runs that weather team:

Anywho - good luck to you Byron. I can't believe they let you go on camera unsupervised, but it sure has added some fun unpredictability to the weekend forecast.

Home Sweet Home

Good golly am I glad to be home. Chicago was great and all, but there is no place at all like home. In the Bay Area. With hills and tall trees and clear skies and the big beautiful bay.

I actually didn't get to see Chicago itself - I was in Rosemont/Des Plains, but there seemed to be no change in the topography no matter which direction I looked. That was weird.

Everyone there is SO nice. Very friendly, down-to-earth people. And I got to eat at the Steak & Shake! I didn't have the shake, but the steak (burger) was good.

There was a greasy-spoon type diner next door to the hotel that delivered, which was nice. The telephone in the room had three buttons for food service: "Pine Grove" (the greasy spoon) and two others that simply said "Mexican" and "Pizza."

I pressed the button for Pine Grove and a hotel employee answered and told me to just call the number on the menu. He must love having that job.

The folks at the restaurant were super nice and my food was good, especially considering how inexpensive it was. A roasted half chicken with vegetables, salad and baked potato, delivered for $15.00. Cheapest room service I've ever had.


When it was time to head home, my new colleagues dropped me off at the O'Hare people mover, which has a large parking area with a waiting area for those being picked up, where you can also be dropped off, aptly named the "Kiss & Fly" area.

We didn't kiss - maybe we'll be ready for that on the next visit - but said goodbye and I went up into the train station. There were two sets of tracks - one on either side of the station - and absolutely no signage on either side as to which track goes to the terminals.

There were electric signs above the doors and when the tram came on one side, the sign said it was going somewhere - not sure what it said - something about concourses - nothing about "terminals" or "airport" or "where the planes are."

I got on & figured I could always jump off & go back the other way if I was wrong. Turned out I was right, but again, no adequate signage or terminology about where it was going and where you might want to get off.

They don't seem to like the word terminal and instead, it's all about concourses - A thru M or whatever - and you sort-of have to know which concourse you need, rather than which terminal - the concourses are in the terminals...

But it looked like AA was in the third group of concourses, so I hoped for the best and got off the tram when I could see similar letters on the signs outside the tram - the announcer/robot never mentioned which airlines one might find at any one stop.

I guessed right and found American Asslines where I was checked in by a very nice woman. I then got to wheel my checked luggage down to an X-Ray area and leave it with some very large Union workers and piles of other bags that all go through the scanner before they go onto the magic conveyor belt.

The X-Ray area looked like an impromptu set-up, right next to the ticket counters with simple fabric dividers between it and all the passers by. No real security to it. I hoped my bag would make it onto the plane, and was very glad I opted to have all my photo equipment shipped.

After all that, I almost didn't make my flight because I got lost amid the dozens of AA gates, but when I found the gate I thought I needed, they'd made a gate change and I had to run from one rambling arm over to another and just made it into the last boarding group.

Once on the plane, it was hard to relax for four long hours - I just wanted to be home already. Flying is sooooo boooooooooring. Thankfully I was next to someone quiet and there was no annoying chit chat. I read my magazines and tried to sleep and took pictures - it helped pass the time.


ginormous maxi pads should be disposed of... somehow... they won't fit inside the washroom, that's for sure.


somewhere over a mountain range

American Airlines - Almost Unusable

They're little better than getting into a Radio Flyer and hoping someone will pull you down the street to the park.

When we arrived at O'Hare, the space waitress on the plane announced where we could pick up our baggage in the specialized speech reserved for PA announcements that sounds just like the drive-thru speaker.

I kept thinking they'd repeat this information when we arrived at the gate, but no. They were very busy with important things like picking up trash.

Once off the plane, I walked the four miles to baggage claim where there were at least a dozen carousels for AA luggage. Each carousel had big, flat panel screens where you would expect to see your flight and know where to pick up your bags.

Every single flat panel screen showed endless AA ads and if bags were arriving from a flight, for a couple seconds that information would appear on the screen, then quickly be replaced by another round of ads. You had to stand there for a good five minutes to see any actual information.

I gave up and went to the claim desk and asked the automaton to look up the carousel for my flight. She helpfully told me it was 14, but 14 is often broken so it could be 13. Excellent.

I did get my bag, but I've never seen a more inept, annoying use of technology. I want to kick American Airlines in the shins.

How dare you make me stand there and watch your stupid ads when it's after midnight because you delayed the flight without any explanation. All I want to do is get my shit and get to the hotel and sleep. You stink.

Assline Travel

What a treat – flying the wide open skies to destinations hither and yon – I don’t know why I don’t do more of it.

I got to the airport on Tuesday to check in and was told by an enthusiastic “line minder” that I could use any of the available kiosks in front of the check in counter.

While I normally do online check-in or kiosk check-in, this time I had a bag I needed to check (check check Czech) so I wanted a human to do the checking and bag-tagging to ensure the bag would actually have a chance of making it onto the plane.

Last time I checked (check!), I didn't have one of those electronic tag printers nor do I have access to the magic conveyor belt that takes bags through the wall and drops them onto the tarmac.

So, I stood there and waited for the one human at the counter – of 40 or 50 available desks – to check me in and take my bag.

The Line Minder, perhaps bored of telling people they could use the kiosks, said she’d help me and walked me over to the desk. She looked up my flight, found the record number that wasn't available online, checked me in and printed a tag.

The only other human behind the desk picked up the bag tag and absent-mindedly said my name over the desk. I responded that it was mine and she put it on my bag and didn’t say another word.

Was I done? Anything else I need? Do you have everything *you* need? Is that it? I guess we're done. I had my boarding pass and right there in big numbers, the time of my flight – a full hour later than scheduled.

There was no one to ask WTF. Why is my flight now one full hour later than scheduled? Why couldn’t you find this information online where I spent a good 30 minutes trying to look up the flight and check in ahead of schedule?

(To fill the time until boarding, I booted up my computer, and golly - no free wireless at SFO. How is that possible? Of all the airports in the country, how is it that our very own SFO still does not offer free wireless? Gavin, you should be ashamed.)

Why is there NO ONE working where human help is actually important, like at the gate desk, while you have FIVE useless sacks of shite hanging around behind the gate sitting in the airline wheelchairs talking on their cell phones? What are these idiots on the payroll for?

Why am I going to have to schlep my own food and drink on the plane when you could let go of all the dead wood and once again pass out free snacks and sodas? A "turkey wrap" will cost you $5, trail mix, potato chips or a cookie - one cookie - costs $3. What nickel & diming BASTARDS.

I’m amazed that anyone ever flies these airlines anymore when the little guys like JetBlue, Alaska and Southwest have figured out how to at least be more efficient about it, and most of the time it's not a hassle.

I can’t wait for the return flight that will have me seated in cargo taking off four days behind schedule.

Chicks & Crime Shows

Why do women like crime shows? I'm one of them - I dig the shows about forensic evidence catching some crazed killer - love that shit - but why?

You can tell there are many of us - all the commercials are for things like diapers, swiffer cleaning gizmos, and maxi pads with wings.

The latest one I just found and love - Haunting Evidence - it's such fun. A medium, psychic profiler and a "paranormal expert" team up to contact the spirits of the murdered to try to find clues that will help solve the cases.

The "paranormal expert" is a hoot. Not sure what the qualifications are, but I might be able to get a job in this field. On the show I saw yesterday, he was pointing out a fuzzy spot on a photo as "clearly a paranormal event."

I've heard stories about other psychics helping to solve crimes - I think it's a great thing. But this Haunting Evidence show needs to start airing update shows if any of their "work" has actually helped solve a case.

So here's what I've learned from all the crime shows I've seen lately, in no particular order:
- If you're a tourist, don't look or act like one - blend in as if you were invisible
- If you're a tourist, don't get lost or drive down streets with only one way in/out
- Don't go out for a hike by yourself - ever - especially in an area that isn't your own backyard, and even then, watch out
- Don't be a female or avoid acting like a female
- Don't be someone's particular type of female or avoid acting like a someone's particular type of female
- Grow eyes in the back and sides of your head
- Know that you are always in danger, always, no matter where you are
- Be stronger than all men in the world - maybe take steroids in addition to working out
- Never, ever, ever get into a car with anyone except your own mother, and even then, be sure she doesn't have the family gun with her and that she's not angry with you
- If you want to kill your wife and throw the cops off your trail, try to write your notes in a different style than your own (this particular show was fascinating - this guy used all negative contractions and no positive contractions in his writing)
- If you leave your bloody palm print on a sheet, they CAN lift that print by removing the repeating pattern of the fabric from the image
- Never, ever, ever pick up some random dude at a highway rest stop for casual sex - gay or straight - it's likely to end badly
- Don't ever stop anywhere for any length of time, ever - always be on the move
- Don't ever get into a dude's car you kind-of know from work, because he's clearly been stalking you under the guise of buying coffee from you, and as soon as he gets you alone he will bash your head into the rocks and throw you into the ocean - see above note about not being female and taking steroids

With all this rich information, I'd like to feel like I'm better prepared to live in the world, but overall, it's really rather depressing. It's great when these guys are caught, but then you think, well there must be hundreds more out there, right?

So, I'll just do what I've always done. Never stop moving and keep taking my roids.

My Eyes! MY EYES!

My eyes are getting better - Rx-wise. Every year for the past 3 years or so, my near-sighted Rx gets better, and the left eye that used to be the weaker of the two is now stronger than the right.

My theory? Using a camera a lot more over the past few years has helped my left eye regain some of its long-range focusing power. And now I occasionally shoot with the right eye.

Not spending as much time in front of this idiot box helps, too. And speaking of sight, it's clear the light is already changing - summer is over. I was just getting into it. Bummer.

New Laptop

And I don't like it. I like my old one. This one's display is all superbright and kinda cold/bluish, and the touchpad doesn't feel the same, the buttons don't click like I like. The mouse buttons are stupid.

And I had to wait 8 weeks for it. This is where my love of online shopping can be a problem, but I went with a familiar brand. I thought it would be great. Kind-of like the old one, but much faster with better wireless capability.

My old one is so cute - so tiny, so efficient, so portable. Why do they stop making the good ones?

: (

Photography Training

And I don't mean reviewing f-stops and bracketing.

I had a big job on Friday and by Thursday morning, I realized I'd been preparing for it much like I might a triathlon.

Months earlier I was doing research and talking to other people who have done similar jobs, looking for helpful tips or recommendations. I also enlisted a partner, a very gracious CCraig.

Two weeks before the event we did a scouting trip to check out lighting, possible setups, parking availability and discussed general logistics.

I told my clients I would be unavailable on the day before and day of the event to ensure my schedule would remain stress-free so I could think only about the photo gig.

Early in the week before the job I tracked down all my equipment and gadgets and put them all in one place. A few days later I started charging batteries, organizing lenses, formatting memory cards - making sure I had everything I thought I would need.

Mid week I tested all the equipment, reviewed our test shots from the scouting trip and thought about how to pack it all up in the most logical fashion.

Thursday morning I went for a walk/run and took it easy - it was hot out and I'm still very out of shape - I wanted to get some energy from it, but not get too tired. Thursday afternoon/evening I packed up all my gear in my sweet, rolling bag.

After putting a water bottle into the freezer for the next day, I went to bed early Thursday night and took my time getting out of bed Friday morning. Spent the morning exchanging emails with friends then looked through my wardrobe options.

Another hot day, so the outfit had to be cool & comfortable, but not too casual. Shoes also had to be nice, but comfortable.

When it was time for lunch I thought carefully about what to eat. It needed to have adequate protein for staying power, but not too heavy, and good carbs for extended energy. I made a whole grain pasta dish with albacore tuna.

I grabbed my frozen water bottle out of the freezer and got cleaned up and ready to go. I headed out with all my equipment in tow, bridge toll ready on the dashboard. I was prepared, rested, nourished and well-hydrated.

Now all I had to do was get the shots.

Sound crazy? Probably, but it was a wedding shoot, which I've never done before. For a friend.

Most jobs don't require quite so much thought & planning, but I was hoping all the prep would help me get some good shots for my friends. I think I got a few... so I think it was worth it.

A Little Weirder Every Day

Yesterday afternoon I set up an early-morning meeting for today with a potential new client - the only time they could make it before flying back to Chicago. I went to bed early to ensure I'd be able to get up a good two hours earlier than I usually do.

As I got into bed, shifting and situating myself into a comfy spot, I turned my head into the pillow and felt the pain from what must be a fantastic monster zit on the side of my head and I thought, It's a good thing I'm not going to meet with someone about being a dermatologist.

I wonder how long it will be before the number of weird thoughts totally outnumber the other thoughts. Will I notice?