1 Mar
Posted in: Regular Entries
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Oscar (Mayer) Wieners

I woke up today all excited that I had something meaningful to write about the Oscars (which I watched in its entirety, starting with the pre-show red-carpet extravaganza at 3:00 p.m. because I’m a dork and a loser). I mean, how could I not talk about that moment in his acceptance speech when Johnny Depp thanked his “beautiful boyfriend” and, in essence, came out of the closet right there in front of 200 billion people?

What a surprise, what a treat! What a huge risk for the Sexiest Man Alive to take on this, the most special night of his career! (I also wondered if he was offended when someone called his Captain Jack Sparrow “slightly gay” instead of the more accurate and politically correct “slightly effeminate.”)

As I lay in bed this morning all warm and glowy with the thought that finally people are allowed to love without fear of rejection or public ridicule, I realized that, wait, Johnny Depp didn’t win an Oscar. And he didn’t thank his boyfriend. It was just a dream. A wonderful, horrible dream.

[For the record, everyone who voted for Lord of the Rings for anything that had anything to do with musical score or directing or editing for Christ's sake!, can kiss my big ol' J-Lo booty. You people suck. And to Scarlett: I wasn't so sure about the platinum blonde when I saw you at the Golden Globes, and you looked downright corpsish on the cover of Vanity Fair (top right), but last night you looked simply radiant. You glowed even more than 13-months-pregnant Marcia Gay Harden, and that's a lot of glowing. And don't despair JoJo; I'm still working out a plan to kidnap you.]

27 Feb
Posted in: Photos, Regular Entries
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My arms ache, my face is flushed, my heart’s beating quicker than normal, I’m unable to complete an intelligent sentence…No, I’ve not just run a flight of stairs. I held a baby.


Now back to your regularly scheduled program.

26 Feb
Posted in: Photos, Regular Entries
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And the Rain Rain Rain Came Down Down Down

Even though there are a lot of terrible things going on in the world today and I encounter a moderate amount of stress in my own everyday life, I try not to lose sleep over anything. Ever. If I were inclined to donate some shut-eye to a worthy cause, however, I might choose poverty in Africa, violence in Oakland, political crises in Washington, baptisms for the dead in Utah. But I would definitely not choose the weather outside my very own walls.

Late Tuesday night and early Wednesday morning, we got slammed by a monster storm that blew in over the Pacific with all the force of a monster truck (with its grill painted like the foaming fangs of a rabid werewolf). All night long we huddled awake in bed, listening to the wind whistle a demented version of the Andy Griffith Show theme song over and over and over. (I could make a lot of money if I bottled that sound and sold it to the officials at Guantanamo.) Just over our heads, the huge window that is original to the 1920s house seizured in its pane and bowed like a fisheye lens. I had visions of a broken branch sailing through the air like a wooden heat-guided missile, piercing the glass, and lodging itself firmly in the top of my head. Our scaredy cat burrowed under the covers, settled onto my stomach, and white-knuckled her claws into my side.

When daylight finally broke, turning the sky from inky black to muddy gray, we watched the rain swirl in sheets, like dust in the wake of a pickup truck. We watched the eight-story trees across the street sway from side to side to side. The smaller trees bent to kiss the saturated ground.

The irony of taking a shower that morning was not lost on me.

During the last storm, the phrase “Only plastic pants can save us” was uttered in our home more often than in the seniors’ center down the block. So this time we got smart and before we ventured out, we suited up in full ski gear, plastic pants and all.

Here he is, my knight in Goretex armor (click to embiggen):

Three stretches of the mighty Missus Sip:

A waterpark?

After detouring one block because we couldn’t cross the street at all, this was the sidewalk deemed the least worst route. Yes, that’s right; that’s the sidewalk:

But it isn’t all for naught. These thirsty swans tipped back their heads and let the rain run down their gullets like wine:

And these lovely ladies, arm in arm, bedecked their throats with diamonds to celebrate the coming of spring to the Bay Area (click the image to get the full effect):