Pug Pillows

My Lulu squirmed her way onto the couch, into the cushions, reveling in the warmth. Before we could snuggle, however, a horse appeared on the tv and she flew away.

Isabella is very good company on a chilly night. She is always ready for a good warming cuddle. She is a wonderful, loving presence in my lap.

As I was pondering Heather's loss and the experiences she and Ruby must be having with the new girl in town, and remembering that Heather and I agree that it is important for dogs to "say" (or sniff?) goodbye to a fallen packmate, I wondered whether Heather had kept Lulu, or buried her, or burned her body.

Cremation seems so wasteful, don't you think? Such a beautiful creature who lived her life in love and luxury would make an incredible plush toy! We could sew one of those cans that low like a cow, so that she could grumble with realism whenever Heather gives her little body a good rocking.

My favorite plush toy was a stuffed koala bear. Its fur was so soft, and snuggly, I would feel safe in my bed at night only I clutched my teddy bear tightly.

Doesn't it make sense that, instead of ditching the livestock just as it's ready to start paying off, we make a few adjustments to raise the value?

All pugs will eventually slip into uncomfortable old age, and no matter how dearly we care for them they will, one day, die. Just when we come to believe that we would find life unbearable without them, they are gone.

Or...are they?

Why stress out yourself, your relationship, your home, by introducing a new animal? Your pug hadn't peed the carpet since you'd last had the floors done over...why chance it? You had to move all the furniture, and the dust was everywhere, and there was no place to sit down for weeks.

Oh, Susan.

We could sew an optional heating pad under the skin. (Oh, you do know how to sew, don't you?) and conceal the plug, well, it should be obvious.

Or, heck, in a few more years if Heather saves all of the skins, she'll have a uniquely marvelous coat or bead throw.

MMMMmmmm.

I wish I had a nice Francesca and Bessie Boo blanket to cuddle under right now.

I'd settle for a nice pair of boxer gloves.

Sucking Oxygen

Tonight's program was focused on an all-live, all-drag re-enactment of two classic "Golden Girls" episodes, complete with period-specific advertisements to which we all knew all of the words, and sang along together happily, in the dark.

Then...Dorothy snapped.

"Would you please stop talking?" she commanded across the footlights.

There were some cute guys jostling each other and enjoying the show, perhaps a bit too boisterously, who were shushed by the sound/light guy (bearded, with a silver ring through his nose) only moments before Dorothy's big break.

I was sitting in the very back of the room, so there was nobody behind me to worry about. I had a terrific vantage point to see everything on stage. The lighting was adequate (we could use a special wash dr3 when the boyfriend sticks his head in the door) and the setting conveyed the reliable feeling of the living room, kitchen, and soup kitchen where the sitcom characters sat.

Jordan's "Rose" was vapid and succulent. Where the traditional Rose is unfailingly blind to any sort of innuendo in her phraseology, Jordan's gal has always got the engine idling, just beneath the surface.

Matthew Martin as the mother of the bride - the bride being her beloved baby brother who has finally come out and decided to bring his boyfriend home to meet the family - stole my heart. Every moment of Matthew's performance is as nuanced and delicate as the original, and it would take you more moments than you have remaining in a lifetime to watch all of the originals, so here you have him. He's an original! I guarantee he will be original to you!

Oh, so who did I forget to mention? Only Mike Finn, who has been "in" the show business since he was a small child. The only opportunity I had previously to watch Finn perform was an early audience at "TROG!" Well, I will now say for the record that I am a fan of Mike's work. He absolutely pays attention to what his character is experiencing throughout a scene, and so he works through the character's interaction with the other characters and surroundings to keep each moment fresh and rewarding in its discovery.

While I'm in context, I should feel safe in agreeing that Mike Finn is a lovely guy, and much, MUCH deeper than he lets on, both because I believe these things to be true about Mike Finn but also because Connie says such horrible, hateful things about Mike.

I passed a delivery truck. On the side of the truck was painted "Popkoff's Frozen Foods" and a portrait of a smiling chef, with a broad face and a slim moustache, proffering a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Could it be...Blanche?

Anyway, back to the oxygen being sucked out of the room...

The sound/light guy shushed the cute guys in the middle, and then moments later Heklina turned and made her request of a sweet young couple who, I then realized, must have been commenting to each other back and forth during the performance although from a distance of ten feet directly behind them I hadn't noticed they had been talking until Hek drew my attention to it by asking them to stop talking.

Ouch.

What is it about that corn?

I thought you should know.

Insidious Thanksgiving VyeRuss

Tonight I received an email warning me of a horrible virus. It was forwarded by a dear friend to whom 47 is a distant memory.

 

The message that he forwarded IS the "virus." It's a Holiday Bump and it's really very sweet.

 

Most "viruses" do things to our computers without our consent. We worry that we'll be stripped of confidential information, suffer identity theft, and end our days in misery and want. In order for them to do anything, they must contain executable code which can hi-jack the operating system.

 

The email is forwarded for no other reason than...to inspire you to forward the email. If you forward the email to everyone in your address book, and each of those people forwards it to everyone they know, traffic could get a little dicey.

 

Here's another one that I just made up. This email contains a virus that causes your front porch light bulb to go out. The purpose of this virus is to cause everyone who reads it to get up and check their porch light. It does not intend to be forwarded to anyone else, because it is so easy to check that the porch light did not, in fact, go out.

---

Check out AOL Money & Finance's list of the hottest products and top money wasters of 2007.

Have we no shame?

See link: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/object/article?o=2&f=/c/a/2007/11/18/BAJRTF0EN.DTL

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Crazy is as Crazy Do!

Michael Grbich, the 75 year old Oaklander who recently tap danced his way across the Golden Gate Bridge "because he could!", would have been stunned with a cattle prod and served up at SFGeneral on a stainless steel gurney had it not been for the 60 or so friends, fans and family he had invited to attend this festive, theatrical, and athletic event.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/11/18/BAJRTF0EN.DTL

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Henckels Ever Sharp Ginzu Knives

So, Henckels "Ever Sharp" -- are these Ginzu Knives?

Tonight I gently, oh, so gently sliced a ripe avocado while holding the knife in my left hand and the avocado in my right. Dinner was lovely - roast pork loin, steamed broccoli and basmati coconut rice with a green salad.Yum.Washing the dishes, I noticed a sharp pain in my right index finger. wtf?

I now have bandaids on two fingers of my right hand. These knives are so intensely sharp, the concept of a "gentle" stroke is unknown to them. Oh, god, I just realized that the other finger must have been sliced when I was slicing carrots for pug treats. The damage was done two days ago, and I've been unsuccessful with NuSkin (liquid bandage, paints on like nail polish and claims to disinfect and seal slight wounds and promote healing) so today I gave in. I peroxided, treated it with antibacterial ointment, and wrapped in a bandaid.

Are these knives from the devil? Other options suggest that my life may have simply been lead without sharp knives until now, or else my coordination is failing and I am currently incapable of doing anything in a truly gentle manner.

Oddience

Through a numbing of the senses brought on by a saturation of media, one may commonly fail to realize the importance of an audience, which is essential to live performance.
How strange it must seem to be a performer on stage before a "live" audience, and to get nothing back from them. Such a passive audience might as well stay home with the pugs.
Experience in front of a live audience is a necessary ingredient for an aspiring actor.
As an audience member who is more than willing to suspend my disbelief, I respect the power of influence that theatre can have over me.
I sense discomfort in some around me when I express a reaction to something on stage. This discomfort is representative of such audience members' inability or unwillingness to believe, even within the confines of the evening, that the characters and events enacted on stage are limited by the capacity of mortal actors performing roles.

Tweaker or Tweasure?

So it must have looked odd for N and J to prowl through the rooms with me, poking under sinks, while little G plopped in front of the television which was, surprisingly, in the exact same spot as when her Nonnie lived there.
At lunch, neither N nor G ate much of anything, although both picked at their food. J polished off a serving of sliders, and I had a generous cheeseburger and a huge side caeser.
I should have offered the salad to the girl. It's called a "salad" to imply lightweight roughedge and health, but by the time they smother the poor lettuce in creamy high-fructose hydrogenated dressing you might as well be enjoying a chocolate milkshake.
Back at the house, LuLu was insistant upon an early supper. She was having at my heels, and lunging at me from behine.

Bursting the Bubble

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/10/13/MNVPSEMVQ.DTL

"It costs so much money for some of these people to get into the housing market," he said. "We're looking at an emergency loan program to help people refinance, in part because is the cost to help these people keep their homes more efficient than building more affordable housing? It's something we have to look at."

Isn't this bizarre and familiar? The greatest number of bank reposessions and short sales are occurring in the poorer neighborhoods, in spite of their sometimes sharing a Zip code with a perfectly established upscale securely higher-valued neighborhood.

The implication is that these homes aren't any sort of bargain. They could be presented in such a way to the lesser-informed as something grand and worth the investment, but anyone familiar with the area would know better.

A large portion of the paper on these loans is held by International funds. Some of the interest was specifically identified as "French" while the rest were simply "International."

Homosidal

What a shock to watch the 1961 William Castle horror-ble "Homicidal" for the first time. The Castle take on horror has been an inspiration to many fine auteurs in the horror genre.
Why was this classic never before broadcast on television?
Some of my fondest childhood memories are of the times "House on Haunted Hill" was being rebroadcast on Saturday "Fright Night" features. How I looked forward to watching "Attack of the Crab Monsters" every Saturday morning. My brother seemed more anxious for "Shirley Temple Theater" and polishing silverware. Neither one of us would have considered spending the weekend playing with other boys.
"The Tingler" was a rarer treat. I remember my first encounter with that tentacled terror was after I had already visited Haunted Hill so many times that I could recite the scenes from memory.
Now, 46 years after its release, "Homicidal" is finally given air.
It obviously owes a huge debt to Hitchcock's "Psycho"(1960). There are shots of the sharply tailored young beauty entering the mysterious house, and climbing the stairs. These same stairs will soon challenge a dark older woman named "Helga" who, confined to a wheelchair, manages, through the clever dramatic device of having had a stroke in Denmark, to provide the need to bring a paid live-in female companion back to Solvang, California. Every detail is very, very important - there wasn't anything in the budget to support extraneous detail!
William Castle is reported, hopefully in jest, to have warned that he would personally take out anyone who revealed the ending of his movie. Puhleeze!

The Bluff Stops...where?

I Bluff You Not

With the Vip-Co application in process, might this be a good opportunity to discuss permitting Wim Moo to re-build his house on Navajo Way with a more ergonomic design? His two-story box must get absolutely pummeled by the winds that whip over that bluff all winter long.
Having a house to the West of the Moo house, below them on the bluff, would likely provide a degree of shelter from the winds.
Even if Sir Wim declines to tear down and do over, the design of the Vipp-Co house as executed will have a very powerful impact on his wind and weather patterns, which should be of much more realistic concern than any view impact.
It also is apparent, from observing several photographs taken of the bluff beneath the Moo house and bisecting the proposed buildling site N-S, that the bluff has lost several feet of earth since the last measures were taken.
The Moo house looms over the precipice, seemingly ready to drop over the edge.
The reason you want plants to grow quickly on the bluff is because the greenery will hide evidence of recent earth wastage.
Build it up, mark it up, sell, and move on.

Martha, Lisette, Barbara, and I

Tonight for the first time I watched "The Strange Love of Martha Ivers." It's one of those treasures I knew was waiting for me. Oooch.
I plugged the title into the IMDB site, and then jumped to info about one of the credited writers, John (a.k.a. "Jack") Patrick. He was found suffocated in his room with a plastic bag tied around his head, in 1995.His wife, nee Mildred Legaye, was born in 1925 and may live still.
http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0665875/bio

Antics of Deviants, with Amusing Results.

I worry about this "Platinum Age" of broadcast entertainment, as entertainment becomes more and more reasonably competent to live our lives for us.
Hey, before I forget, I want to recommend "Masters of Science Fiction" to you. It's abc, I believe, and Saturday nights after 10. It's a sleeeeeeper smackdown. This week's episode featured Anne Heche, for kitsche, it was riveting and excellent science fiction. So au courant, it hits hard.
I remember watching episodes of "The Outer Limits" in first run and being so surprised by what was being presented. Subsequent viewings dramatically lessen the impact of the scenic progression.
One of my favorite topics is time travel versus the incontestable immutability of the soul, although I have ... just lately been grateful for the entertainment options I enjoy each day. Going from CIA Black Sites to E!TopTen feels much like driving from Mendocino back to the WC in a go: the sudden change in pressure can be very jarring to the system. Guess it's just time to take another sip of the KoolAid and get back to work. brb

Crab cakes

Tonight I realized what "crabs" are. Every day on the beach we walk over dead things, and they are always swarming with little crab-like critters. Little ones.
The puggies often step right through the swarm. Isabella likes to back up to anything dead, raise one back leg, lower her pudendum, and pee.
Apparently these critters prefer to munch on their deceased prey than tackle anything with a still beating heart- and thereby hangs my theory that on "public beaches" which are groomed, i.e., from which decaying matter is removed, the "crabs" are ravenous for sustenance and will eagerly snatch hold of anything meaty, whether human, canine, or otherwise.
The only time I have ever had crabs was after "dating" a very cute bartender who I met in San Jose. He invited me to visit him at his home in Santa Cruz over the weekend. Fun! It was to be my first "romantic weekend out of town" since moving to San Francisco.
His apartment was cozy, and near the beach. He had very little furniture: he explained that he was renovating the place, even though it was only a rental.
We fooled around on his bed, which was a mattress on the floor. After a tender post-coital cuddle, I excused myself to use the bathroom.
Imagine my shock to discover that there were no fixtures! He was remodeling the bathroom, too!
"Where do I take my business?" I asked.
He explained that if I was careful I could just aim for the hole in the floor, but otherwise I could use the public beach restroom, which was "only two blocks away."
I made some excuse to leave, and my new crabs and I left for home.

Another crabby encounter was with Tom McVitty, an early blond hotty who had a penchant for banging coke and getting banged by cock...I picked him up hitchhiking at Bonny Doon beach, near Santa Cruz. He had very fine, blonde hair on his chest but a full set of pubes, and they were absolutely swarming. I fetched him a bottle of Rid from the nearest Walgreen's, and the bottom of the tub was coated with crab corpses when he was done.

What have we learned from all this nonsense?

Well, don't lay down on the beach unless there are plenty of dead things around to feed the local crab population, and when you come to visit we will have to comb through your chest hairs after each beach adventure to make sure that you are not harboring any tiny bioterrorists.

Adventure...with naughty bits

So he's the most sexually adventurous man I've ever met.He's strong, and sexy, and handsome, and virile, and hard, and insatiable. He has the strongest sex drive of anyone I've ever known, and we seemed to surprise each other with the extent to which we were willing to go to wear each other to a sex satiated frazzle.
Then he peed on me.
No big deal. It was his idea. I was kneeling in the shower and there were tiles all around and the water was flowing. He loved that.

Any and every time that I approached him, day or night, to my delight, the pants came off.

After breakast Sunday, he left me in a sweaty cum-drenched heap. Later he mocked me, gently, with, "You're not going to leave me here like this, are you?"
"It's not like you were tied up or anything!!" he said.
Hmph. No, it really wasn't like that at all.

Sunday afternoon I drove him up the hill to show him the view up and down the coast. He tentatively stroked his cock through his shorts. Suddenly he unzipped his fly, reached into his shorts, and brought out his hardening cock. Stroking himself to climax, he exclaimed, "I love this view!"Had he put that sock into the door pocket just for this occasion? I thought that demonstrated exquisite forethought.

They had this huge advantage. They weren't crushed by steel.

That's something you could use to give the story a more positive spin, right?
This is the sort of horrible story in which the DA's office researches the last invoice paid on bridge maintenance. Follow the money, and it will lead you right down into the river.The Mississippi river is at its lowest in tens of thousands of years, and Oxfordshire is flooding more severely than any previously recorded season. It sounds as if earth movements unforseen during the engineering of the bridge possibly combined with years of neglect to bring about this collapse.

The fact that the bridge was constructed with the steel beneath the road surface kept it hidden from most passersby, driving over it many times daily. "Out of sight, out of mind."

Favorite Cocktail Piano Scenarios

tonight I discovered a terrific site, "The Cocktail Piano" "http://www.cocktailpiano.com/index.html" and it's as weird as it is wonderful.

Give it a listen, and buy, buy, buy! Support the Art of the Cocktail Piano!

Connie Crosses Over

Connie is in France this week. She turned 50 on Sunday, and said that she was looking forward to being in Paris "on his own" on that very special day.

She was packing for at least three months before leaving for this trip. When I met her for dinner the night before she left, she showed me around her new digs as we stepped around piles of clothes...pretty much as it was in his Concord house, only darker. He has a ground floor apartment, with a private, gated entrance (I believe they're known in the ghetto as "bar doors" because they are made of iron bars...clever, eh?) His bedroom window looks out directly to the sidewalk, and the only chance for direct light in the place.

He slyly let me know that he plans to explore his sexuality while he's in Paris, and he's been studying up on "dirty French" as well as collecting advice on different "scene" places to try. I guess he noticed my disdain, or assumed it, when I suggested that there are a great many things to do in Paris that don't involve having sex.

"You take the easy way out," he said. "With Jeremy and all of that."

I remember a year or two ago I hosted a dinner party. Matthew, Mike, and Connie were here, and Mike was excited to tell us about all the "super hot" men he had had sex with in Brazil. He described how he would instruct his cab driver to go slowly through a certain part of town, and when he saw someone he liked he would have the driver take the cab to the curb. He'd then roll down the window, and the Brazilian boy would come forward and pull out his wares for closer inspection.

"They'd let you do anything for, like, $2US!" he exclaimed.

"Oh my god, and they're dripping with venereal disease!" I shrieked, which I guess didn't make a friend of mine in Mike Finn. Connie, however, concurred that they are "filthy" and was most visibly disgusted by the whole idea of purveying flesh in the slums of Rio.

So is it more chic to be prowling for anonymous sexual partners, oh, pardon, "liaisons" in Olde Europe than in the New World?

Apparently so.

Golden Girls

Matthew joined me tonight for dinner and the show. He kept mentioning how well he knows Justin, and they've been such close friends for so many years, and Matthew knew him back when they were performing "South of Market" all those long years ago. I reminded Matthew that he STILL performs South of Market...and just North of South Van Ness. He didn't want to say "hello" after the show, and high-tailed it home for a night of frantic smoking and packing before boarding a 6am flight to Seattle where he and his cohorts are doing a hit-and-run with a couple of "Golden Girls" episodes in drag. Heklina is quite the producer, having created "Trannyshack" ten or twelve years ago he continues to put together a monthly revue, and licenses the rights to produce "Trannyshack" events internationally.

In the true spirit of the thespian artistry, he sells the tickets for cheap and jacks up the prices on the two drinks minimum. Oh, and these are the "must-see" sold-out shows of the season. Really. I had to apologize for not making it to Theater Rhino to see him perform as a marine in Iraq, and it really was a shame because the experience really taught Matthew a new way to look at the war. (I didn't mention that "enthusiasm and energy" aren't necessarily terms that are used with the intention of meaning "good theater."

Matthew shared a horrific tale of a near brush with death experience he had while performing a "Golden Girls" episode at the home of Mike Finn, former circus performer and cat sitter whose favorite cat-sitting clients left him their cat, and their Victorian home in their will. Well, they were doing this without any sort of permit, four nights only (sold out!) and raking in the bills selling shots of hooch. Saturday night they had so many oversold seats, they pushed the audience forward into the space that had been considered downstage. Matthew had to step over legs and feet in the dark as he took his place in a straightbacked kitchen chair, when he heard a nearby crashing of glass. The lights came up to reveal Matthew in a pink peignoir, the large plate glass window directly behind his head in large, grizzly shards.

Being the professional that he is, he didn't turn around to look. He barely acknowledged the audience's gasps, but when it came time for his character to turn to the window and comment on how much she enjoys the rain he cleverly said that she enjoys "looking at the rain through the broken window."

It. just.doesn't.get.any.better.

Dead Zone Frogs

To live in a wooded area in California is to be aware of the elements of fire danger. Trees are tinder, grasses tender. We are advised that we should maintain a cleared 100' "safety zone" around our properties, to prevent the spread of flames from foliage to structure. We cut down the trees, then, and mow the grasses, to abate the fire hazard, until...voila.

We should implement a forestry study at Irish Beach, in which a map is made of the area indicating the location, size, age, and species of every acknowledgeable spec of flora. From such a plan could be determined the relative nature of each growth, whether benign, melignant, or benevolent.

The scenic pond is brimming with life: singing frogs, crickets, insects, bats, birds of prey, bears, and mountain lions. An abundant insect population is sufficient to support a proportionate number of bats. If humans were to suddenly eradicate the bat population, there would be a sudden surge in the numbers of insects looking for a meal.

Tonight we also learned the value of "sachet" in repeling insects. It appears that the buggers can't smell how tasty you are under your lavender halo.

I can easily imagine the insects eating us alive...

Waning Crescent

So apparently there has in fact been a moon these past few nights, but it was very slight and tucked in much too early for me to have seen it.

Tonight's moon was on the way out. The official name seems to be a "waning crescent."

Pugs snoring, smell of poo...tonight after a delightful soak under the stars with a nightcap of Frenet, Lulu was sitting just inside the door. She was acting suspicious, so I lit a torch and followed my nose into the kitchen where...ooops...she did it. She was obviously sorry that she had had that accident, and she had done such a splendid job of chasing away some skunks earlier in the evening that I couldn't be at all upset.

There are countless sounds at night. Whooshing and scratching and rustling round sounds

You get straight what you need to get that way.

The new Element is the exact same color (different names, though..this one is "Atomic Blue" because Honda engineers are predicting the planet Earth will be reduced to an area of materials which are an-atomically incapable of contributing to their own self maintenance nor reproduce their own number to carry on on their own behalfs.

The Honda dealership in Walnut Creek has a completely opposite approach to selling cars than the Toyota dealership "across town" on the more southerly end of Main Street. Oh, no.

So the weirdest thing about this deal, besides the different attitudes toward the sales pitch (the Toyota salesman was very forceful, very direct, gave me his card with the name and number of the "Director of Internet Sales" at the dealership at the mention of the Eye-word.

Back at the office, I searched the Toyota dot com site and came to a "Buy" link, which let me query certain cars and ask for prices (I had told my salesman that I intended to shop the Web) and I heard from three or four Toyota dealerships in the area, including someone from the WC dealership who claimed to be the "Manager of Internet Sales".
Was that just me? Was that for my benefit?

I told my Honda salesman that I had felt violated by the Toyota dealership on the "other" side of town, because I had been told one thing and then discovered on my own that someone had been flexing the truth.

This was the same salesman, Dave, who laughed when I told him that the Element "didn't get me hard" and then offered me $4700 trade-in on the Rav, although I had mentioned that I was late for lunch and feeling hungry, and since he was already playing with himself how would he feel about letting me help myself to a little bit of protein while I help him as well?

It feels as if I must have fought very hard not to respond in kind to the blatant suggestions being made by the hot salesman. Heck if I had let things happen, I would have been much happier with the trade-in offered being a full three thousand below KBB's suggested price.

I wonder if, around the dealership, it's a known feature of this extremely successful salesman's service that there are times when certain parts of the "deal" don't go through.

When the salesman brought the Rav back to the sales lot, to return possession to me, he didn't announce his return. My brother Edward noticed him, as he backed the Rav to the "Customer Parking" fence and went inside to fetch some window cleaner and a rag. "It's amazing what Windex will take off." he said, as he removed the yellow "Not For Sale" sticker from the windshield.

It wasn't until we returned home that we noticed the Rav's rear end.

While the "In-n-Out Burger", "Pornstar" squiggle text blue oval, and the gallery's No Place Like Here signage were still bearing witness, there had been a disrespectfully rough attempt to remove my "My Child was Inmate of the Month" and my "Masturbation is Not a Crime" stickers.

Three words.

Irreplaceable.

Car Deal

After the Ravioli died coming off of the freeway two weeks ago, I got worried. The road to the beach house is windy, unlit, mountainous...there's sketchy cell phone reception, at best...the nearest tow truck could be fifty miles away...I had visions of Isabella, Lulu, myself, a mountain lion and a black bear, all hungry, in the dark night...
so I test drove a 2007 Rav4 which has a choice of 4- 6- or 8-cylinder. WTF?? Apparently Toyota is using the same frame for all of their SUVs these days, so there is no more such thing as a "casual" SUV. They're all huge to ginormous. There's also no more standard shift. Retardville!
Huge.
The new Rav4 would not fit into my garage without major reshuffling.

The next day I thought I would try out the Honda CRV and then the Element. The salesman was handsome, and sexy, and he kept touching himself through his pants...I swear to you! I didn't enjoy driving the Element at all, and told the salesman that it "didn't get me hard," and yet...here it is, in my garage. The key selling point for me was its cleanability, and doghair impregnable upholstery. You can literally hose the interior out!! I'm also attracted to the suicide doors, and total flexibilty of the interior as far as seats folding up/folding down/coming out/going down, etc., etc. For 4 cylinders it's a peppy box - I consider it a "camionette" because it's so much like a small truck. It's 4wd, and has an automatic transmission - this so that I can let my chauffeur drive me around, as well as run to PetSmart for pug kibble.

When I was test driving, it was already lunch hour and my blood sugar was low. So was my blood alcohol, no doubt. I signed up for 2.9% financing, and traded in the Ravioli for $4700. In sudden remorse, I finagled the Rav back from them in exchange for a check...it felt devious, but justified when I saw that Kelley suggested a $7700 private sales price. I had made the deal on Friday, and owed them the title...on Sunday I called to ask the hot salesman if I could buy the Rav back, and he put me on hold before telling me that it was "absolutely too late - sorry." The next day(Memorial Day) the finance guy called to see if I had dropped off the title, and I asked him the same thing...and, voila! he was willing to do anything to keep the customer happy, so of course if I would simply bring them a check they would give me back the car...

and then the meager accessories that I bought at the same time I bought the car - a cargo net, a floor mat, and a roof rack - came in, and we scheduled installation for "all day saturday." The special storage armrest (for property keys, methinks) had come in on Wednesday, but they wouldn't install it for me because, technically, I had not bought it as part of the new car contract. I had ordered it the day after I signed the contract. Oh, and just as I was picking up the car on Saturday evening, the parts department turned off their light and closed, so I couldn't take the arm rest with me to install myself. Well, when they called me to find out how happy I was with their service, I told them exactly what I thought about the armrest situation and they offered to install it for me. I felt like such a cunt, but, heck, it took them all of 15 minutes and they had kept the car ALL DAY SATURDAY Joke 'em if they can't take a fuck. I'll write them a nice thank-you letter, and name names. Management loves that the most.

so when I was pulling into the garage on Saturday, with my newly installed roof rack, I drove forward very slowly. I know that there would be very little clearance now with the blue bicycle hanging from the ceiling. Nothing...nothing...nothing...then BLAM-BLAM-BLAM!! The roof rack had not only made contact with the bicycle, but at my delicate pace it had lifted the bicycle off of the pegs, and dropped it onto the roof and hood of the car. Nice work, at 312 miles, eh? You will be thrilled (I hope) to learn that I was able to leap from the Element and, reaching around the door, grab the bicycle with my left hand and hold it up, preventing it from tumbling onto the TT. Phew! Cunt karma stings!

Then the wheel turned again, and I sold the Rav for $6500 - even with black smoke coming out when it's started. Oops.

Starving Birds

I feel responsible for untold numbers of bird deaths.
Since moving into a log cabin in November of 2005, I have been trying to maintain a critter-free human and pug only habitat. This part of the coast was heavily forested until the turn of the last century. Migrating populations have relied on finding what they need for their survival on a leg of their long journey that has this spot as a verified safe home. Like the large number of ocean birds that washed up recently, dead of starvation, is a very similar indication. Last year at this time of year, you had flown for 2500 miles and were ready to crash in your sweet little mud bed. You had been returning to this nest every spring since 1991. You were hatched in this very spot. It had been built by your great-great-great-great grandparents when the house was new. Swallows had built nests wherever they could, and by carefully selecting which nests to knock down and which to allow, successive generations would return to the same nest year after year. As families grow, they will expand their mud network of nests in that same permitted area.

Am I being too mean?

So to remember John Stamos replacing Antonio Banderas in the revival of Nine on Broadway is not entirely pleasant.

Antonio had received rave notices on his U.S. Stage Debut, in a limited, sold-out run. I wanted to see this show, but didn't get to New York until after Antonio had left. (see, They can’t say anything bad about your acting if they can’t get into the theater to see it.)
John Stamos seemed to have some discomfort at being watched by so many people all at once, all expecting that he would know what to say and do next, or hoping that his character would.
When he came upon unfamiliar turns in the lyrics (how much time had he been given to learn them? Obviously Mister Stamos is no showtune lover. No gay knocks for me, Aunt Ida.) he turned upstage and mumbled. He may have run the back of his hand across his mouth, but that may have been Elaine Stritch demonstrating how she put her fingers in her mouth when she went up on “The Ladies Who Lunch.”

It’s a goddam beautiful day! Shut up!

So after spending a few minutes on IMDB.COM and even fewer on IBDB.COM I discovered that Mister Stamos was the replacement for the Master of Ceremonies in the Roundabout revival of"Cabaret" for six years! Two years before that he filled in as J.Pierrepont Finch, for nearly four months.

Kiki o'Kiki

I absolutely agree that "Kiki's Delivery Service" is a wonderful movie.
I am not fond of the 1989 'merikan voiceovers. On second viewing, listening to the original Japanese which included original music and songs, the effect was closer to timeless.

Connie had a "date" tonight. Not in a car this time, but at a hotel bar. Eight o'clock. The number was working late at a cancerous infant ward down in Palo Alto, and hadn't had dinner. Neither had Connie. Oh, well, let's just have a few cocktails and get acquainted. Ok, one more.

Oh, he was hot! He was totally sexy, totally hot, really hot body, well, kinda hairy, and not worked out, but really sexy and going on, and he was having a hard time resisting but I had no trouble at all!"

"So what you're describing is a date rape situation."

"What?"

"You overpowered him, you are bigger and stronger than he is.You forced your mouth on his, without even inquiring whether..."

"What, whether he had herpes simplex, and was currently experiencing an outbreak? That sounds like a great way to break the mood!"

"I'm glad I called. I had a feeling you could use a phone call from a friend just about then."

"Oh, he was so hot! He was totally into me, too. I'm sure I'll be hearing from him again!"

"What did you say? You know for sure you won't be hearing from him again?"

Kiki, oh, kiki.

Return of the Thing

The rain came today, after four days of sparkling weather. Iris are blooming all over the garden (rumor has it that there are one or two black iris in there...) Rupert Everett's autobiography is a great read - nearly finished, after replacing the wire mesh around the chimney's rain guard - I'm satisfied that the dead bat I found in the living room came in through the chimney flu, so I braved steep ladders on a steep roof with an audience of p.o.'ed swallows to replace the tattered mesh.

After my workout, I decided that I wasn't so desperate as to sit in the hot tub under a steady heavy rain. The moon will be full tonight, and by 3 am it will be over the ocean, and by then the clouds may be cleared by the projected change in wind direction, so I've set the tub to heat to 104 by 1.

Such a sad, empty life.

JD came by the house to pick up his XBox. He stayed that night, and the following one. His chief comment about the card I had sent (in which I said that I hoped there would be no hard feelings, we just can't be together, good bye and good luck, do you want this XBox or not?) was disbelief that I had offered to let him sleep on the sofa from time to time, if he ever needed innocent shelter.

"The SOFA?! HELL!"

And he didn't build a wall of pillows between us.

Pig Maker

When did Peter become an old Jewish woman?

It disturbed me to notice what a different dog Sydney is when with one or the other Hornbuckle-Fritz.

With Steven she is a working dog, eager to hunt down wild chickens, bite pigeons on the neck, or bark at the neighbor's pig, Francis, who likes to muscle his way into the chickens' pens and eat all of their food.

What good is "Egg Maker" going to do for that pig? Bacon!

Sydney dives fearlessly into cane grass, guinnea grass, quack grass, whatever hideously overgrown dinosaur bladed carnivorous tropical plant infested with hungry bloodsucking insects, and dives out again with every hair in place, grinning from ear to ear.

When Peter and Sydney are alone, Sydney plays the froofroo and struts delicately about the severely manicured "front" yard. Peter warns her about a blade of grass which may have been cut leaving a sharp edge, and Sydney raises one paw and backs away, as if the very thought of soiling herself is enough to discourage her from taking a risk and putting her paw down on the dirty, filthy, dirty ground.

Olive oil on you toasted bagel?

I'm not planning on being in any condition to drive over the next few days. I've been diligently taking care of jobs around the house and garden. A phone call to my window supplier revealed that, why of course the windows are supposed to be painted on the outside and stained or primed and painted on the inside. News to me. I've also become entranced by the spectacular blooms in my garden: currently bearded and yellow Iris are abundant and enormous. They seem happy, but there are some who have been overtaken by the spread of Mexican Sage or Rosemary, and should be relocated once the green is going.

The moon is nearly full, and the air has been mild and fresh.

The pugs and I are all three worn out from work and walks in the sand.

The bats have nearly all left the attic! It's been a long haul, persuading them that there are really much more comfortable places for them to roost and making the conditions up there increasingly uncomfortable for them until they agreed with me and left. Or died.

Two bats had become tangled in netting that I've stapled under eaves to discourage the swarms of swallows that are desperate to colonize my house as sundown approaches. Their mummified convulsions were evidence of unpleasant deaths. I was surprised to see the quantity (two dozen or more) and sharpness (razor sharp) of their teeth, although they were tiny. I'm sure that had their little faces not been desiccated from hours, days, or weeks spent suspended by an entangled wingtip or toenail from a tattered bird netting.

A third bat had found its way into the living room, and met his demise hanging upside down a few inches from the cord to the window blind.

Peter Mintun is in town, he played a gig at the Venetian Room on Saturday, and he's playing at the Art Deco Ball this coming week. The SF International Film Festival has got everyone excited, and of course there are freeways being melted by exploding gasoline trucks.



p.s. watched "The Patsy" on TCM's "Silent Sunday" tonight. Marion Davies was so funny on film! It's a very cute comedy, younger sister Pat has a crush on big sister Grace's boyfriend, and moons around whenever they're visiting. Grace is no good, and boyfriend doesn't know Pat is alive, until...this was a "Marion Davies Production" and Directed by King Vidor. Marie Dressler played the mother, and rumor has it that she was prepared to end her life when she was spotted having her "last meal" in a Hollywood restaurant and re-discovered on the spot. It was pretty obvious that that story was entirely concocted by a Hedda Hopper, with the express purpose of diverting attention away from Marion Davies.
"She was all dressed up in black lace! There were candles on the table, and she was dining alone!"

Hungry Birds

So apparently chickens are descended from dinosaurs.
Specifically, some genetic goo extracted from the fossilized bone of a Tyranosaurus Rex was analyzed to prove a direct link from T Rex to modern birds. At the same time, Steve's chickens exhibited a proven taste for flesh, most especially the hot living flesh of feathered visitors to the chicken pens, whether pigeons who have snuck in for free eats or a fellow hen with whom they have shared the coop for the past few years. Once a member of the flock exhibits weakness or instability, the others are beholden to take her out and consume her flesh.
The cannibalism seems to carry no social stigma, but merely serves to alert the chicken keeper that the birds are needing more protein in their diet.
While visiting Maui, Steve took me to Costco, and to WalMart to buy chicken food. He hadn't told me very much in advance about our upcoming adventure...so I enjoyed the surprise very much!
The next day when I traded my "upgraded for free" mini-van for the 2-door economy car that I had reserved, I wondered what the Hertz would think about the empty chicken feed bags in the back of the mini-van.

Here, Chicky, Chicky!

My trip to Maui to see Varla Jean Merman's Hawaiian debut was fun, and strange. Because of a symphony night, the last of my season, I didn't arrive on Maui until the day of Varla's performance.
"Oh, this is Maui! Nobody gets dressed up...you'll be hideously overdressed if you wear anything more than shorts!"
"You didn't pack any socks, did you?"
"Oh, do you want to see the chickens? You can help me feed them."
"Have you ever held a chicken before? Here!"
"You should have seen the look on your face when I passed you that chicken! Hysterical!!
And that is how I came to see Varla Jean Meraman's show dressed for a chicken ranch.

Pug Thugs

There is something wrong with Lulu.

On at least three occasions since I've been home Lulu has yelped in pain. She hasn't done it in my sight, however, so I'm puzzled as to the cause or reason for her complaints.

Isabella has been especially demonstrative to me. Whenever Lulu is behaving strangely, Isabella makes it a point to get my attention. She walks deliberately toward me, fixing me with her murky eye. If I kneel down to her level, she walks right up to me and puts her front paws on my lap, then looks uncomfortably over her shoulder at Lulu. Lulu is a pathetic creature at this point, really playing the part of a wounded soul.

Tonight she wouldn't even touch her dinner! I could tell that she was hungry, and she wanted to eat it...but she put a lot of effort into NOT eating it. Hunger strike!

My reading of their story is that Matt took the girls on at least one "pack walk" to the "Dog Park" and Lulu got her ass handed to her on a doggy platter. I don't think that she was physically damaged beyond care and repair, but emotionally she has been severely shaken.

I don't know whether it is a good thing or a bad thing. I have long avoided the Dog Park people, for at least as long as Lulu has been with me. Once Frankie could no longer catch the frisbee, the Dog Park seemed less fun. The only reason we were excited about the park was because it allowed us space to run and catch the frisbee. Too many other people made it an "issue" and spoiled the fun.

Hopefully she will have an appetite for breakfast in a few hours. If I can let her know that I understand her story, maybe she will be able to relax.

Audience of One

Tonight's fare was Stravinsky, Tchaichovsky, and Citizen Cake.
I can't remember ever having a more enjoyable evening.

Alice brought her daughter and sone-in-law to the symphony. I've only seen Alice at one other performance all season, and this was the first I've met her daughter. Mattie is a lovely, quiet girl.

John Goldman was on hand to congratulate MTT on being awarded a Grammy Award for his recording of Mahler's 7th. It was a very glamorous moment, and MTT took the opportunity to thank everyone in a genuine, gracious, and appreciative way that gave us each a share in the pride of such an achievement.

For performers of any kind, without an audience it's just psychosis.

Dinner tonight featured Will's Balls - a mozzarella and artichoke risotto fritter - which I chose to have with greens (I was given a lovely spring mix, roasted sunflower seeds, and a delicate vinagraitte) and then Will's tagliatelle with a duck confit ragu. There were roasted baby yellow beets for added color, flavor and texture. Dessert was a new one: warm chocolate chibouste, tonka bean ice cream,with cocoa beans and junipero sauce.

I am working on a plan to provide tickets for Friends of John McGehee. Rather than give blindly, I would like to administer donation amounts that correspond to seats in the house. I will have to learn how these items are counted. Ideally someone would approace the box office the day of a performance and inform the staff that they are a friend of John McGehee. If there are tickets available, my friend can have his or her pick and the charge will be debited to my account. The tricky part is to keep the account on the "tax deductible" side for me. Would it be possible for the House to simply cooperate and throw some decent soul into an empty? Perhaps there can be an arrangement whereby the House recovers its costs and then puts the remainder of the ticket price to a 'Greatest Need' use.

New York Post

There's always so much to do, and so many people to talk to while I'm in New York, it's hard to find the time to sit down and put it down.

This trip was bracketed by two comedy shows: Scott Thompson's appearance at Comix, and Cara Kilduff's emcee gig at an AIDS Services benefit in New Britain.

Scott's show was well worth the wait. His material was freshly culled from his personal angle on the shared human experience. He is more freshly faced than any his own age and most who are years younger, and his opinions are as solidly formed as the most stubborn bowel movement you've sat down and stood up again for more times than you can remember.

Is this the kind of compliment I would want Scott to read? Yikers! I really love the man's sense of humor, and I'm in awe of his wit...are the things I just wrote hateful, and if they are, is this a form of passive aggression? and what the hell is "passive agression" really?

I guess part of this opinion was formed after observing his obsession with circumcision, which he exhibits in a piece denouncing the barbarous society which rewards the holy persons who perform these ritualistic acts with cash while sending pedophiles to prison.

Ouch, Scott! Please back up on that last one! There is at least one international group that promotes discussion of foreskin mutulation among adult males and foreskin restoration options. Genital Mutiliation is at the forefront of discussion in Canada, but please, Scott! This is the Land of the Free! We don't allow any mention of PENISES or FORESKINS in this country!!

Personally, Scott, I am with you. I wish I had been given the option to keep my foreskin, but apparently neither of us had a choice. Let's just be happy for the sake of the upcoming generations of uncircumcised males and the men who adore them that this horrible disfigurement is on the decline.

Let's also be happy for the many fans of circumcised penises, shall we?

Morning Call from the Bride

So I was on the phone with Beaurewong this morning, bright and early. She had already started the day on a rough note, being insulted and disrespected by some girl working in the coffee shop. I told her that it may be she is looking for a fight, and at that time preparing to be insulted and disrespected, and the girl could be having a bad day and the “rudeness” Susan felt directed at her could have absolutely nothing to do with Susan…but no. Susan would own that girl’s bad vibes as her own, and carry them throughout her day.

She repeated the story of Timmy and Lacey's two daddies' drama in which only one survived, and this time she called it murder. I remember these two doggies with fondness, having spent more than an hour in their company on a beautiful evening walk by the Hudson River. They were both extremely aged, Lacey being a small blonde poodle and Timmy being a black standard who was adopted by Lacey's two daddies when his one elderly daddy passed away. Okay, the dog died, sad, and?

She tried to get off the phone with just that, but I had been waiting to talk with her and she had been ignoring my calls since Monday night's adventure when something horrible might have happened to Ed in the bathroom. Oh, no. Don't you dare hang up yet.

We agree that her fearfulness for Ed's safety is no different than the fear that she feels for all of her friends' well being, and this stems from her fear of abandonment.

Susan says that she "knows" she and Ed should get married, because they "love" each other and "take care" of each other. "It's not about money!" "Ed wants me to sign a pre-nup, and that's fine with me because it's not about the money for me!"

I explained that in order for there to be a "pre-nup" there must be the assumption of a "nup" to follow. A contract is a "meeting of the minds" (yeah, Judge Judy) and so in order for two parties to be in complete agreement before signing a contract, they must both understand what is in that contract. A prenuptual agreement is not something that a bride "in love" signs without understanding the legal rights that she is surrendering.

Susan has done her research, though. She's read almost the entire "marriage" entry on Wikipedia.

She said that she felt that people weren't being supportive of her in her decision to marry Ed Wong, but I wouldn't let her get off with cheap tears. I assured her that if I didn't love her I wouldn't care, and wouldn't ask anything of her, but I felt sure that if she and Ed really have thought things through then she should certainly have considered x, y, and z and be prepared to answer questions from those who care about her happiness.

I told her that from what I have observed, the intensely personal and completely loving communication between herself and Ed may be entirely in her own mind: I related back to her a story she shared in which she had called Ed in a frenzy and railed against him horribly, only to be touched by his tender love for her when she called him back twenty minutes later to apologize and he said that he completely understood.

"In fact," I offered, "he may have been paying no intention to you the first time and not heard a word you said, and his understanding tones on the second call may have been nothing more than a trained response to the tone of your voice.

She promised to do her homework, which she set down as "taking a trip to Barnes & Noble" to see if they have any good books on marriage.

New Home for New (F)Art

From this morning’s Times:

Naming rights for a museum’s grand spaces are part of the deal for valued donors these days. But when the New Museum of Contemporary Art began its capital campaign for a $50 million building on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, the bathrooms were the first places to be christened.
“I’m 83,” said Jerome L. Stern, a retired venture capitalist, “and I thought it would be nice to see my name in a place where I’m going to spend a lot of time.”

Words, words, words

I’ve discovered a good reasons to keep my tapping fingers well calloused: my handwriting has gone been so far neglected that I am entirely out of practice.

In days of letter writing, everyone had beautiful handwriting. The more you wrote, the more your handwriting improved. As your handwriting was beautiful, you enjoyed writing and took the time to keep it fun. The process of committing thought to written words took more time and thought than typing.

Now that everyone has a keyboard, thoughts are typed out incredibly fast. Our fingers fly over the keys, but they have lost the ease and ability that comes from using a pen as a writing instrument. The strangeness of a pen or pencil in my hand reminds me of my early childhood, and the sensation of taking a pen or pencil up in my hands for the first time.

With handwriting, too, the written word would have no effect on anyone unless it was read by another, or read aloud to another, or repeated in words written on some other medium…the written word has the problem of being in physical form, must be seen or repeated, therefore must be meaningful to the one doing the reading.

She called me "handsome"!

See, here's the deal, Dollface.
I need info so that I can send tickets to friends and enemies that I might still have in Connecticut.
The Beat of Hartford, Baby, you can hear it all around.
As I began this email, lil' Isabella came sauntering up from under my desk, and let me know that she wanted to come up into my lap...she's just getting comfortable now. There is no way I would DARE leave her alone with Lulu for more than a week, ten days at the very most. My itineraries keep expiring on United.com.
There is a chance that I won't be able to attend the New Britain extravaganza...but I would like to have the chance to see a few Nutmeggers while I'm there, if I'm there. I would like for them to experience Cara Kilduff whether I'm there or not. Hurry up with that info, woman!
So our girl Susan asked me to marry her to Edward...and then revealed that she was only asking me because you had declined, and she hadn't heard back from another girlfriend.
Some sweet woman looked at me tonight, shook her head, and said, "Wow. You think of these things and then say them right out loud. Wow."
Yeah, like, Wow.
I made a bit of a rant at her vis the responsibilities of marrying folk, and the importance of discussing everything no matter how seemingly inconsequential BEFORE tying the knot (there's a reason it's called a knot - knots are not easy things to untie) and I hope it made her think. I am really happy that she and Ed have found love in each other, but I worry that Smiley is not going away - and either Edward is using Susan to poke a sharp stick at Smiley, or he feels that Susan is able to rescue him from Smiley's clutches. Husbands divorce wives all the time (New York State has the most heinous, anarchistic divorce laws on any books, any where in the US) but it is extremely unlikely that a 30-something man will be granted a separation from his mother. It's where you came from, dude. Deal with her.
So, Sweetness, I see that my friend has TWO shows: one at 8 and the other at 10:30. Do you have a preference? I'm so fabulous, I can go to either or both...but some of us girls, I know, have to wake up early to get a grasp of some fecal matter. Wanna shoot me back a dig? I'll take it any way it feels bes to you, baby.
Oh, and by the way, tonight I asked my friend Matt (whom I trust) whether or not I scare people, and he nodded an emphatic "YES!" to which he added, "Not every last soul, but close."
Oiy, veh.
xoxo,
-J


----- Original Message ----yahoo.com

Sent: Wednesday, March 14, 2007 7:27:42 AM

Subject: Re: possible NY adventure...

Hey Handsome,

I am yours on the 24th. I do have Beauregard's bridal shower from 5:00 - 7:00 but I don't think I have to stay for the entire time, maybe from 5-6:30. As far as CT goes...the event is morphing into me co-hosting with this annoying retard I went to school with and each of us doing 20 minute sets, plus an improv group, I think. So, it's more performance time for your girl. They also want me to come up in the early afternoon to teach an hour long workshop on comedy. At least I have 2 weeks to prepare that. Oy. I have to find the link for the event to send you...

Have a beautiful day!
xoxo
Cara
AOL now offers free email to everyone. Find out more about what's free from AOL at AOL.com.

"Luke747" is born

Luke 7:47 "Wherefore I say unto thee, his sins which are many are forgiven, for he loved much, but for whom little is forgiven, the same loves little."
I'd better double check that quotation.

Delusional Paranoia

I have dumped the chump, at last.

What began nearly five years ago as an exciting sexual adventure became a hideous disaster. The lumpen creep living on my sofas, eating my food, drinking my liquor, smoking my bud had to go.

If two or more persons choose to be in a relationship, i.e., relate to each other, they will either need to both change or neither change at all. For one person to change and another to stay exactly where they were, or to regress to a pre-verbal state, does not bode well.

It would be hard to believe that pictures "before" and "after" are really of the same guy...

Before:
















After:

Marriage...and going all the way

I'm just thinking that heterosexuals take the whole marriage thing way, way too seriously...and way too casually at the same time. Little girls are brain-washed into thinking that they have to get a husband, that their wedding day is going to be their "special" day and the most important day of their lives...ick.

My friend Nathan nearly married a harridan who was incredibly hateful toward his 8-year old daughter. This gal has three children by her failed marriage, and there was no way she was going to give Gracie any motherly attention. When I first asked him how things were going, he got all excited and said that he had been thinking about things and was going to ask the woman to marry him.

Ooof. I suggested he wait a bit, see how they get along, see what happens when they've blended families for a time...so he moved her and her kids into his house.

They trashed his house, filthed it up, and showed him a total lack of respect. The woman takes her own career much too seriously to give any thought to Nathan's. She likes to shop, and she drained his bank account with her old debts and some new ones. She broke his mother's heart, took his truck and made his dog fat. To top it all off, she continued to show blatant favoritism toward her own children, especially her youngest daughter who is just a year younger than little Gracie. It broke Nathan's heart to hear the woman and her daughter giggling and sharing in the next room while he tucked his little girl into her quiet bed at night.

Well, during one discussion with Nathan (prior to the move-in) we were talking about his daughter, who is the center of his world. He exclaimed that her wedding day would be the happiest day of his life, and punched the air with his fist in anticipated delight.

"A wedding is fine," I offered, "but isn't it more important that the person she chooses to spend her life with, if she chooses to spend it with someone, loves her and cares about her? and what if she can't marry that person, because it's against the law? Isn't it more important that she grow up with coping skills and social skills and the ability to be happy in life?"

I love me some Nathan. He's always happy to explore new ideas.

Dog Stuff

As I was enjoying my Cincinnati Bowtie, I realized that while dogs may lick their balls because they can, dogs sniff another dog's ass because that dog allows it. Stick your snout up the wrong bung hole and you risk getting it bitten off.

Someone suggested that the dog sniffs another dog's ass to get rid of the aftertaste of the previous one. Very guy type thing to say, don't you think? The dog was probably an unneutered male, too.

Oh, and after my earlier posting I googled the expression, and discovered that there is a brown version, which pops up in first place. Secondarily their is a hyphenated version that involves penetration of the partner's tracheatomy.

I assure you all that it is the third most popular definition of the term that is the only version that I shall ever willingly re-acquaint myself with.

Had to Say It

So I was enjoying a post-concert Frenet at my favorite slate bar a night ago. A recent acquaintance, who lives-in with a friend on staff, swung by to offer her a ride home. Since it was a symphony night, naturally the conversation turned to musical instruments.

"Do you know what a 'rusty trombone' is?" Eric asked.

"Of course!" I explained, "I used to play the trombone in school."

The topic of sports was hopeless, so we quickly moved to fashion.

He asked me if I had heard of a "Cincinnati Bowtie" and I answered, honestly, that I had not. Well, it's a move that puts the supine partner face up, with the testicles of the dominant player resting on the supinates larynx, hence the reference to neckwear. In Eric's version, the decorative neckwear is simply a secondary note behind the chief purpose of this position, which allows for intra-boobular frottage.

"And where is the sitter's be-hindage?" I asked, horrified by the answer that I already knew.

"That ties it! Susan, YOU have to do all of the cooking in the house! NO BROCCOLI FOR YOU, ERIC!"

Little did I suspect that within a few short hours I would be wearing just such a bowtie. Shudders (of delight)!

One thing I absolutely learned tonight, when two guys go at it you really can end up with man juice EVERYWHERE. Jeez'n'cheese.

I've also become more ponderously intrigued by experiencing orgasm as a full-on banquet, and not just the dessert. Yum! I'm stuffed!

Drama Major

Tonight I saw a fantastic production of "The Pillowman" at Berkeley Rep. The play is Martin McDonagh's second work produced under the spot-on theatercraft of The Berkeley Repertory Theater.

McDonagh explores the role of the imagination in creating stories that are more interesting than the simple re-telling of things that happen in everyday life, and the responsibility of the story's creator for a story worth acting out by others who perhaps are only seeking to raise the level of their personal experience out of the humdrum and ordinary.

...and how about Shakespeare and that Pygmie in a box?

M

Honest Encounter

A Group of middle life women were having lunch, and were admiring the scenery wharfside on a drizzly winter afternoon.

Down at the water's edge, a surfer had suffered a twist or a break in his foot or his leg. As he sat on the shore waiting for the medical professionals to arrive, a small cluster of surfers kept him comfortable, warm and hydrated. Several feet away stood a concerned clutch of observers, and further back passersby glanced over curiously.

The women couldn't take their eyes off of the scene. The three with their backs to the action kept flipping their heads around to keep up with the action.

Said one of the gals, in disgust, "Oh, look at those two guys on the pier. One of them is looking over there with binoculars!"

The other gals clucked in shared disgust.

"Hey - there they go!" said another woman. "They're cutting off his pants! Why do you suppose they always cut off their pants?"

The women all sighed in unison.

It's NOT "TV"

Tonight I relaxed with the pugz to catch up on the second season of "Rome." I was completely behind, and my DVR was getting backed up.
Further research will be required to verify this theory, but isn't at least one episode a straight transposition of a screenplay for "Deadwood"?

Ramblings at Bedtime

Rene Richards is going to be on “Talk of the Nation.” I think she’s worried that Veronica Klaus is stealing her spotlight.
I also think that she killed Anna Nicole Smith, if putting a hit on your adopted Chinese daughter’s lesbian lover’s credit card carries any responsibility any more.
I personally bore the news of the tragic death of Anna Nicole Smith to the good women of the Concord Costco this afternoon. My large-breasted and jovial black cashier was stunned into citing Paula Abdul as another celebrated woman who has recently appeared to be intoxicated on some televised interview. I say, consider the source. If a slurry Paula is getting’ sloppy on a broadcast signal that’s only going to be seen by sloppy boppies, then wtf? I remarked that Ms. Abdul had made her career as a dancer – a top-heavy dancer – and her use of pain pills are perfectly legitimate.
As for Anna Nicole Smith, the recent death of her son of a drug overdose meant that there would be a greater supply of that drug for her. Rumor has it (well, I’ve started it, at least) that it was the lawyer/lover, Howard Stern, the self-professed father of the naughty girl-child that burst forth from Anna Nicole Smith’s loins (or thereabouts) just two months ago, who did her in. First the son, then the mom, leaving the infant as sole inheritor of the cash-o-la from ole’ oil-rich whatzizname. Once he has established paternity (which I discovered could be established fairly easily, if Howard had ejaculated on the glans penis of his boyfriend, and the boyfriend had penetrated Anna Nicole Smith’s vaginal cavity (vast) then Howard’s lil’ swimmers could have done the job. Just a few thoughts on current events.

I had dinner with my friend Connie last night. Now that she’s moved into a rented apartment in San Francisco she’s…more boring than ever. Hopefully this will turn out to be a short phase. The job sounds worse than horrible, and she’s looking a bit worse for the wear, and smelling even worse than that. I complimented her on her "eau de freshly exercised lame race horse" cologne, but I don’t think she took it well.
It was her first time at the SFSymphony. She spent a lot of effort critiquing the décor, and seemed especially amused at her comparison between Davies Symphony Hall and the settings for the film, “Logan’s Run.” Dumbass didn’t remember Carousel, and insisted that there was a space ship involved, which just shows that he really is exhibiting early stages of Alzheimer’s Syndrome. The fact that he contracted with his brother Matt to perform yard maintenance on his real estate empire serves as further proof.

I mentioned to my favorite bartender/waiter and my favorite chef/waiter at Citizen Cake that I was thinking about renting a house on Maui for a week or two toward the first two weeks of April, and I was hoping to secure the services of a chef and bartender/server, they beamed. Then I heard that I really had better discuss this with Elizabeth, the owner, if I want to keep my reserved seat at the end of the counter. More will be revealed later, rest assured.

Since returning from Mendocino this week, life has been so jam-packed and fun-filled that I could scream! We’re settling into several days of rain, so I think I’ll hang tight for the duration. Jeremy cut out just minutes after my arrival, and as he flew into his sister’s waiting car (which I didn’t see, but which sounded for all the world like Jeremy’s dilapidated Cadillac limousine. Hmmm…..) he asked me to have his xBox fixed. No “please” of course. I told him that I would be happy to set that up for him, with his help, so as soon as he comes back we can get right on that.

I’m looking forward to a very peaceful weekend.

And more planning for Maui! Yippee! Jeff was completely surprised when I mentioned his upcoming show at the MAC. Mark Cortale handles all of the booking details, so Jeff can spend every waking moment performing this show and writing the next one. Such an easy life! He just did a weekend in Palm Springs, and he was SO disappointed – “It was awful!” he said. “How was the theater? Was it a nightclub? Was there a stage? Were the audiences moved?” “It was a RESTAURANT!”
Ish.

I hope Maui is ready for Varla Jean Merman.

Damn, damn, damn...

Toast your tootsies, it's gettin' hot!

First Time at the Rodeo

I've dabbled in online prose over the years, mostly in the personals. I'd spend hours laboring over the proper wording for my profile, selecting the most flattering picture, pumping up the adjectives to describe...me.

Then there were endless hours I devoted to composing thoughtful responses to profiles that I found to be interesting. I would be candid, and totally myself, and I never received a single acknowledgement for my efforts.

Subsequently I have removed my profile. I decided that the time could be better spent on other things, like cleaning out the closets to make more room for me.
Oh, just kidding about the closets. I wouldn't fit in there even if there were nothing else hanging around.

So I've also experimented with keeping a diary, or log, but never kept it up. Partly that is because while my fingers may fairly fly over the keyboard, my mitts sometimes become like palsied stumps when I pick up a pen or a pencil. Go figure!

Friends of mine have written blogs...acquaintances, even. There seems to be a wild separation between "flesh friends" and "online buds" and you know who you are -- some things are just easier written into a blog than spoken to another person.

Then, again, for me I seldom have trouble speaking even about the most heinous, unspeakable subjects...adult diapers, kinky sex acts, multiple homicides, politics, religion, nothing slows me down. Perhaps for this reason I often find myself with the most, to me, hysterically funny thoughts, and yet nobody within earshot. This is especially disturbing because I have an honest-to-goodness undergraduate degree in drama, and my voice can carry over quite a distance.

So what do you think? I'll start a bLog! Not the most unusual idea in the world, but it seems to be working for a lot of people, on both sides of the screen.