Good God Y'all

Just now I took a moment to sing a series of lyrics from War out of the cat door to the smokers on the back porch.

All things being equal, I think that would suit me quite well as a remembrance/memorial.

Little Women and packing

Egads, there is absolutely no reason I should have awakened an hour ago. Bleh. All the last minute things that are preying on my mind depend on the opening of stores and offices. Phooey.

Rereading Little Women. iBooks is dangerous, yo. It's more religious than I remember. I still think Amy is a shit.I wonder if I'll still be mad at Jo for refusing Laurie. Or perhaps I will better understand her this go 'round.

Eggplant Casino and the Big Sur Drive-By

My trip to Mid-Cal/NorCal ended this week. It was lots of fun, and I think my hosts were the most gracious I'm likely to ever encounter. Endless thanks to Panda and Tink, for allowing me to let it all hang out, waller, and be pretty useless for over a week.

We saw some live music one night, in a small art gallery/showroom somewhere in downtown Berkeley. The band was Eggplant Casino, and their sound is a bit of a gypsy, latin, swing, jazz hybrid. Raucous and lovely. It was so damn good I bought a CD.

The whole band was tricked out in a wonderfully rag tag style, sort of like Wedding Reception About 6 Pints in--this glorious mash-up of waxed moustaches, hats, dinner jackets, and dress slacks. The trumpeter had on a pork-pie hat and a guayabera--looking like a trumpeter should. The sax player was in a  smart suit, sporting a soul patch. The band leader was swinging a six string base and had the sweetest yellow seersucker suit. The violist and lead interpreter (for the band is originally from Yetchnia) is the lovely Sig, over whom I made quite an ass of myself by ceaselessly remarking on her uncanny resemblance to Penelope Cruz. To wit:

Sig was minus the lacerations and abrasions, for the record.

The band had me at "Hell yetch!" and when they closed with the hauntingly hilarious "No cake for you!" I was hooked. As with a lot of bands, their recordings pale in comparison to their live sets, but take a listen if you're interested. It's kind of like if Andrew Bird, Faith No More, Over the Rhine, Bobby Darin, and the 100% Colombian LP had a baby. And that baby played the marimba.

We skootched down to Monterey to see Omey and Mrs. Omey and the Babby C. Happy 1st to Babby C and Happy Anniversary to the parents. Has it really been two years already? Extra bonus points for Panda being in Tour Guide mode and getting to see the grown ups for bit that evening.

While ambling around Monterey, we hit up part of the beach in Carmel. Believe it or not, this was my first dip into the Pacific since moving here. And it was just a toe dip---that water is crazy cold. The beach was littered with an amount and type of kelp I've never seen. There were masses of green, flat, scaly leaves and yards of stem that looked like rubber hoses. And a ton of odd pod shapes hanging off each tendril. Tink summed it up best:  "It looks like an alien exploded on this beach." I feel that H.R.Geger must have had beaches like this near him in his childhood. If I ever get copies from Tink, I'll post the pix.

Panda and Tink reasoned that since we were so close, we should see Big Sur. So we detoured to drive through it, and what an awesome decision that was.

Roadside View.

Like an oil painting come to life.

You're not paying for the drink at Nepenthe. You're paying for the view. Well worth it, too.

Beware the ravens and jays, for they doth stalk the tables and if thou tarry too long with thy muffin, they shall snatch it.

I use to be of the mind that I'd done a fair amount of ranging in my time, in various types of brush. Big Sur showed me that I had only ever dawdled in woods. This is the first true Forest into which I have ever set foot.

I was surprised to learn that Redwoods are firs. And their bark is extraordinary--there's no pitch to it at all. Panda confirmed that not only was it not fit for burning, but that these forests had evolved to withstand fires and use them as a necessary part of their reproductive cycle. Fascinating.

These pictures don't really do it justice, and are no help in trying to convey the size of the things. We could only stop for a very brief walk through part of one of the parks. But even with the unexpected alien terrain, there was still that old familiar tug. That urge to spot the thinning of the trees and wend a way through; to leave the obvious trail for the hint of a less used track; to range and wander.

Our last day was a pleasant mixture of activity and indolence. We supped at the incredible Burma Superstar. If you are EVER anywhere near San Francisco or Oakland, hie thine ass to this restaurant with a quickness and order the Tea Leaf Salad. It is one of the most incredible things I've ever had the delight of tasting.

We rounded out the evening with a viewing of Silverado. Panda nailed it, saying it's not so much as Western as "Lawrence Kasdan's love letter to Westerns." It does contain every Western cliche I could think of, and was tons of fun. The cast includes Kevin Kline, Scott Glen, Danny Glover, Kevin Costner, Brian Dennehy, and Linda Hunt. I hearts me some Kevin Kline, and this movie is just a good popcorn flick all around.

I feel that's quite enough blather for one sitting.

The Continuing Surprising Adventures. . .

Well, I'm having an absolutely lovely time visiting my friends Tink and Pandaman. I've been generally useless and indolent, and some stuff had happened which went a little something like this, here it go:

--Nurse!Andy and his vast medical expertise.
--Purple nails, oatmeal, and wandering the City with Tink
--Tink being ultimate Cruise Director and making sure I get my stuff done, including eating.
--"Well, you know I've been trawling for some Irish strange. I just settled for some second hand Mick."
--"I'm Crazy Eddie Pilaf! Come on down to Crazy Eddie's and buy some baby food!"
--Unseasonably sublime weather, tons of sunshine
--Pursuit of melanoma in the aforementioned sunshine
--Sir Digby Chicken Caeser, for ever and always. Both to watch and live out:

--"Try not to make out with any Micks on the way to the parking lot."
--Laughing and laughing and laughing
--Being so silly that we don't even make it through our Hex episode, because we have to stop to play and act out Highlander and Sir Digby
--*~fassbender!~*
--impromptu discussions about philosophy, nature of reality, physics, and other light reading material
--freakish telepathy. Hive mind! One of us! One of us!
--Visiting with Roland again, after all these years
--"Well, sometimes you have to be bad to know when you're being good."
--Excellent music, with plenty of "Florence + The Machine" and some song by "Mumford & Sons" that gave me chills

http://pl.st/s/588729105

--The Great Resume Collaboration of 2011--just add alcohol
--"B.A.R.T's running." Possibly the most eloquent, scathing, perfect insult of the year.

Okay...there's more. But somebody needs to bathe or something.
--

My Hair Hurts

Looking back, it's hard to determine which is worse--the approx 4.5 hours of sleep on the floor or the 57th glass of honey whiskey. (<----obvious lie).

My trip north started with a bang that left us all with whimpers this morn.

Lin Lin and hubby gave me a ride to the airport. I was bemoaning my mail service, bc I had wanted to get all of this cheesy horrible BBC series on DVD and take it with me to SFO and force Tink to watch it with me. Sharing is caring, y'all. But it was not be, until the hubby remembered he had an unopened copy of the entire season at his house. SCORE! Tink's suffering was obviously destined by the gods.

I don't know what it is about me that motivates bartenders to invent new and deadly cocktails just for me. But thanks to Bernice at LAX, I know how to make a kosher crust for cheesecake and have a new drink: the marzipan. I really don't think she needed tonmake that second one a tall. Sometimes having a bartender like you is the worst.

Tink and Pandaman picked me up and took me on a harrowing trip through IKEA. I fashioned some awesome jousting gear out of a planter, a plastic lid, and a feather duster. But Tink didn't seem to think it was wise for me to hop in the cart and challenge the other shoppers. I did get to play in the pillow bin though.

Outbfor Ethiopian food and party supplies (Newcastle werewolf beer. No, seriously) and back to the house forth awesome surprise---a slumber party with omey, mrs. C and Babby C!

Reasons to love Panda: he comes out of the kitchen with beers and asks "Are you feeling like a lycanthrope?"

It was a silly and fun night. Wigs were worn. Poker was played, badly. I can't say I was verybwell behaved, but I didngive fair warning before misbehaving. And for some unknown reason, these people seem to like me.

I really don't recommend a five am wakeup time after going on a fassbender, though. Now I must go drink my weight in water and prepare for tonight's garden party. Lookout, world.

Trudie Styler is Fucking With Me*

No shit.

If that's what it takes to keep up with Sting, I don't have a snowballs chance in hell. Between this and the whole 20 minute ab routine, I think I'm done. For the year. 

*Scientific Conclusion based on initial application of the "Ten Minute Express Warrior Yoga"  workout. Hypothesis formed at minute 5:00 and confirmed at approx 7:00, as instructor casually instructed practitioners to go into a "vertical split."

Up Past 3 Am, Awake Before 7

That hardly seems fair.

Sigils, Signposts and Searching

Some random thoughts I apparently need to get out of me head:

*I think, perhaps, it is the human condition to seek, to be always searching. To expect the breeze at your back will coalesce into a visage. To listen to water over rock and wind through trees and think you hear someone calling your name. Whether it's religion or magic or deafening want, I sometimes think we are all looking for that lost rib.

*If you wish for magic, for the amazing and fantastic, perhaps you will never find it. Or perhaps you already create it, everyday, and have learned to ignore it. Didn't the electron shift for the observer's eye? Don't we know so many things without ever having to be told?

*"Oh, he looks like Evil. Delicious, delicious Evil."

*Perhaps it is all only a case of statistics--of waiting until it happens to you. Or perhaps we protect ourselves in ways we don't really even understand.

*And if we are protecting ourselves in unconscious ways, could we also be hurting ourselves as well? Could we be inviting Despair and all his subtle minions into our lives and hearts daily?

*As much as I don't want to cause anyone I love pain, I selfishly wish not to have to suffer through the loss of those dear to me. That's right, I said it. I wanna go first.

*If you understand something, does that make you obligated to take action?

*If search is the impetus for human existence, then I think that's what painting, music, film--all art--are ultimately about.

Personal grooming, Caucasians, and Physics

PAN ATLANTIC HOROSCOPE FOR SEPTEMBER:


Cancerous is well known to be the most ignunt of all the astrological forecasts. So since you don't got no job, don't got shit to do, you might as well go traveling this month and lay your unemployed ass up on everybody's couch. Sure, you don't have a job, you're running out of money, and your UI check haven't come in. But that has never stopped you before. 

My September, sweet September
Seventh name in the Ninth month
Your lingering summer breezes push me out my front door
And onto various planes, winging my way across the country

In keeping with this, I realized belatedly today that I am flying out tomorrow, not Sunday. Whoops. Cue much laundry and running about. I also don't have a ride to the airport. Fuck.

I am also attempting the heretofore untried: packing for a ten day trip with a piece of carry-on and a back pack. Please, please, don't panic. Pass out the smelling salts to the lady who swooned in the third row. It's just an experiment. We'll see how it goes. (I predict badly, but that could just be my common sense talking.)

Earlier this summer I slept on my shoulder funky and fassbendered it up but good. Today is the first time it hasn't actively bothered me in months, and I think that's because I attempted to do 10 girly push ups yesterday and those muscles have taken over screaming rights for the moment. Fine by me. Scream all you want, bitches. Ain't nobody around to save you.

I have a wedding at the end of the month. Somehow I doubt that I will magically have shed 20 lbs and look fabulous for it. I suppose I might try upping my exercise, but it's an accomplishment for me to crawl out of bed and be mobile within 4 hours. I begin to suspect my meds are Not Quite Right. *sigh* Really, just *sigh*---I don't have much else to say about that.

So, I have some personal grooming of the vaguely painful kind that I pay a certain person to do for me. Her name is Olivia, and she is bitching awesome and does facials and sugaring and cool stuff. She's super intelligent and very nice to boot (she gave me this computer desk for free!)

If you are in the Santa Monica Area, check her out. http://www.beysgarden.com/

Anyhoo, anytime I visit the lovely Olivia, I stop by the local bar, Rick's, for a shot of Dutch courage and nerve numbing via alcohol. Rick's is pretty divey, in that respectable divey way, and if I do end up talking to people it's always the wildest convos.

Today I sought to drown my future pain in a White Russian. The guy on the stool next to me commented, which led to bowling, which led to a discussion about particle physics and Eastern philosophies. No shit. In about 10 minutes. Turns out this guy was a physicist for a while, then he quit and became a patent lawyer. There are no words. I laughed out loud when he told me this and he wanted to know why. "That's a hell of a C.V. you got there," I told him. He shrugged, like this what everyone's life looks like.

He was very excited that I brought up the similarities between Buddhist teachings and quantum physics. I told him the story about reading how electrons in microscopes were found to move according to the wishes of viewer (Science Weekly Magazine, circa 1987). He brought up the concept of Action at Distance (I was familiar with variations of the concept, but had never heard this formal name.) I mentioned Schrodinger and his cat, he mentioned a book exploring and contrasting the lives of Einstein and Neils Bohr.

We both agreed that in this universe, it's silly to think things aren't connected. I opined that the real freaky thing would be if things were isolated from each other. Then I had to go and make my appointment.

It's one wacky game show, kids. And I still have to pack. And soon I must relate about  how my mail carrier is out to get me.

To my surprise, there are some people who haven't seen this. Frightful thought, that.

Babby is tiiiiiiiiiired

How can this be? When babby does so very frigging little each day?

The last seven or so days have seen me walking a few miles, hither and yon, due to lack of car. I figured I might as well get a kettle exercise. But gentle reader, you know that blatherblahg cannot, nay!,will not!, lie to (overmuch). So it must be told: the main reason for my recent outdoor excursions is my constant and surely doomed quest to become brown as a nut. Tanned like buffalo hide. Baked like a chicken.

I imagine a more enterprising sort would have found their way to the beaches by now. Beaches just tend to be so full of people and sandy, and lacking in comfortable water closet provisions. And i am a whiny asshole.

Can you believe it's September already? Me neither. This monthnis filled with travel and all the mess that makes of one's daily life. Hopefully I got my UI sorted and mailed yesterday. Today will be filled with frantic packing and general confusion. Must remember to take out the trash.

In my youthful folly, I believed that circumstances would align in my favor if only I could be in the "right" place at the right time. Now, considering what I've learned in life and where I live, I know that there is a) a great deal more prepatory work involved than my foolish young mind imagined and b) therenisna levelmof cosmic luck required that no amount of wishing can make so.

My stomach is growling. How does it not realize my body is carrying a months worth of sustenance disguised as excess fat, all over my body? Silly metabolism.