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.