just another ink-stained wretch

Just a matter of time

2009-07-18T12:00:00.000-07:00

There is this great little music shop at the end of our street.

Back up: Every year, around my birthday, I choose to do something that is outside of how I normally see myself. I started when I was 30 and realized, suddenly, how afraid I had become of things. Drowning. Breaking a hip. Facing a waxing specialist. I also noticed I didn't do things because they weren't "me," and that just leads to a cul de sac life, one devoid of water parachutes, lemurs and short-statured lovers.

This makes it sound as if I go jumping off cliffs, which I don't. Some of the things I have tried have been harder than others, and many of them probably would not be hard for you. I took a radio voice-over seminar, I deep sea kayaked, I did a two-day roller blading course at the Esplanade in Boston, I allowed a stranger to put hot wax on me, I went far under the ground.

So, modern day - I do not see myself playing music, in any fashion. I took a summer guitar class the summer I was twelve, and I don't remember any of it. I did not do well. I spent one woeful teenage winter drunkenly playing (and badly, very very badly) harmonica around my town. I can't read music. And I had a birthday and now it's time to learn an instrument, just because. Before I die, basically.

I went in to this sweet little music shop near my house yesterday and asked to see a nice soprano beginner ukulele. Now, a starter uke is only $55, so one should be able to buy one's own starter uke right off, but my husband and I were both laid off earlier this year, on the same day. Every penny that comes into our home which does not go immediately for cheap wine or swill with which to feed our children goes, obviously, to subscription Internet porn. I cannot in any conscience drop more than twenty bucks on a whim, unless it involves Xanax and weight loss. And lemurs.

And the uke is seen as a joke many places, my friend, but not here. The uke is known as an instrument almost impossible to not learn. I don't plan to play it for profit or in public, but I do want to learn it, just for me, just for in my brain. Luckily, Santa Cruz takes the uke very seriously.

Anyway, things are interviewing right along, so I know I'll be getting my groove on soon enough. I leave you with this:

Baldassare's dream

2009-07-13T11:37:00.000-07:00

Baldassare Forestiere bought 80 acres of land in Fresno, California, in 1906; he planned to grow citrus. What he discovered was that he owned acre after brutal acre of nothing-grows-in-it hardpan. Forty years later, he left behind at least ten acres of underground tunnels, patios and living quarters. The land has been through a number of family disputes and a great deal of it was sold off (apparently there is a tunnel, still, under the nearby Carl's Jr/Green Burrito, which is used for storage). What has been saved is now open for tours.

Some years ago, I drove up to check it out, and the gates were locked. That was okay by me, as the only activity I saw was a man walking the grounds with a bottle of clearly marked rat poison and a six-pack of Coors'. This time, I went in, rats and watery beer be damned. My tour group included a woman who had been there ten times. She announced that, and she also offered her graphics services to our tour guide in order to spruce up the shabby signage and Web site. "I work at the prison, at this present capacity," she said, "But we could totes get you some seriously inexpensive graphic work through my connections there!" I think she meant she had a secret cache pf prisoners who knew advanced Photoshop.

At the end, when we had a Q & A, I asked if our guide knew anything about Baldassare the man. Were there stories about him being, umm, odd? It's surprisingly difficult to ask in front of a dozen Italian tourists and one angry, extroverted prison guard, if the artist whose home we just toured was, well, a whack job. I was told he was considered extremely reserved, but liked his family. I certainly appreciate how much room that leaves for interpretation.

I strongly suspect I will be that elderly woman one hears about, stopping at every follie and and tacky roadside stop in her dotage. I am so captivated by other people's visions, and whimsy and their madness. Why, Bladassare? I would love to ask him. The answer wouldn't really matter.

Take a look, and remember that everything you are seeing is at least fifteen feet undergound street level. My photos won't do it justice -I humbly direct you to a great collection from folks on Flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=Forestiere+Underground+Gardens

Summer movies

2009-07-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

I paid for and watched "The Proposal" today so now you don't have to. You are most welcome. My companion stated afterwards that it was "cute," which is damning with faint praise if ever I heard it. I am one of those people who actually enjoys a good romantic comedy, who appreciates laughing out loud and not knowing how things will end because This One Will Be Different.

Also, I very much like of the Ryan Reynolds. However, upon further reflection, it seems to me Mr. Reynold is actually a good-looking Muppet and not, in point of fact, a human male with a "guy-next-door" level of attractiveness.

I read somewhere that a romantic comedy is based on a series of lies - the leads lie to themselves about how they feel while getting further entangled in a series of snowballing lies to others about intentions and goals, which sounds a lot like politics, frankly, with less sexual tension.

I also saw "The Hangover," which I feared would be like "Porky's," only less sophisticated. Instead, I fell in love with and quickly had Zach Galifianakis' twins. So, yeah. That's kept me busy.

An Offer You Cannot Refuse. No, REALLY.

2009-07-05T21:34:00.001-07:00

Hey, it's rough out there. Don't I know it? And you, you struggling writer, are you looking for that one gig to rule all others? Not to worry - the world is rich, indeed. Viz (and all [sic]):

Writer Needed For Ex N. Idaho Drug King Pin (San Fransico)
Reply to: mailto:job-eut3f-1255107035@craigslist.org?subject=Writer%20Needed%20For%20Ex%20N.%20Idaho%20Drug%20King%20Pin%20(San%20Fransico)
Date: 2009-07-05, 7:27PM PDT
Writer Wanted For Ex North Idaho Drug Kingpin: Looking for someone to write life story, unique story, unique Individual. Story consists of dealings with Colombians,Cubans, Mexican Federallies, 16 years in prison hanging out with mafia members from the Phildelphia Scarfo gang, Charlie Iannache, Anthony Pungitore, Gene Gotti-brother of John Gotti of the New York Mafia, being successful jail house lawyer. Story begins with the consequences for a boy with a gifted IQ who deals with uniagnosed ADHD and the path he takes in life through taking over the underbelly of the drug world,prison,self inflicted extrodinary rehabilitation efforts to his succesfull entrance back into society. This isnt some run of the mill drug dealer story! I SHOULD BE DEAD A HUNDRED TIMES OVER. GOD HAD HIS HAND ON MY SHOULDER TO GET THROUGH IT.

ps: All Statue of Limitations are finished and all prison time completed. The story just needs to be told by a gifted writer.

TO SEE 6 PAGE SYNOPSIS GO TO: http://bobbyconvict.blogspot.com/ If interested, please submit writing proposal/compensation plans. I would prefer to give the writer a portion of proceeds, but would pay the right writer to do the story. Follow up to the book would be self help videos/books for children-parents-educators-inmates to not go down the path I took, or to change an inmates life through education. please email me at: write4me87@yahoo.com.

So much for that salad . . .

2009-07-02T14:30:00.000-07:00

Why, we wondered, did Mabel always smell so sweetly of sage? And then I walked into the courtyard and came across this, in my herb window box.

2009-06-28T12:10:00.000-07:00

My theory is that someone is slowly killing off everyone who has ever been on TV.

Not to stereotype, but it's probably an Amish serial killer.

2009-06-27T00:01:00.000-07:00

DANG! Why do celebrities keep ruining prescription drug abuse for the rest of us?

Another weekend looming

2009-06-26T13:06:00.000-07:00

So, okay. Here's what happened:

Many years ago, I was a mom who stayed home with her very young children and was a freelance writer, too. My husband made enough money for us to pay bills, with my freelance work paying for wacky things like cable TV and takeout. It was good. And then we lost everything due to poor planning and relentless optimism, and I vowed it would not happen again. I spent the past eight years working up my journalism credentials, as a writer and editor, so I would be hirey should (heaven forbid) the economy tank again.

Thank GOD journalism hasn't been hard hit!

Now my magazine is on hiatus while we all hold our breath and wait for the world to resume spinning on its axis. The good part is that I have been part of the workforce for a while (aka, hello, unemployment). The fascinating part is that both Andrew and I were both sent packing on the same DAY (aka, hello, panic attacks).

This blog has been kind of quiet, mostly because I have been too busy running in tight little circles while flapping my hands at my sides. It's hard to type that way. It is, however, an excellent cardiovascular workout. And rather adorable when I'm drunk.

Now I am looking at options, which means squinting at the computer screen and wondering if I could be an x-ray technician with no training and with carpal tunnel syndrome from all the flapping. Or maybe I can hire myself out as a bad baby bird impersonator. I'll figure it out. I think. But oh, weekends are not so much fun when they just are two more days that you know for sure won't be days on which you'll get a call or email about that resume you sent in.

What about you? How is your job?

Michael Jackson

2009-06-25T19:47:00.000-07:00

That issue of personal life versus public life is back again.

I am reading a lot about Michael Jackson today, as you probably are, whether you want to or not. And I am watching the growing debate regarding his "legacy" v. what may have happened in his private life.

Last week there was gossip that Morgan Freeman, an actor generally beloved by the public, may have had (or is still having) a ten-years-long affair with his first wife's granddaughter - a relationship that started when she was 17 (at best) and was being raised by him.

And then we have our old friend Woody Allen and his wife/not daughter, Soon Yi, and lesser -- but still morally repugnant -- stories, like Christina Bale's rage on the set, of Ben Stiller being an ass at the Oscars, of Chris Brown's assault of Rihanna, of various celebs with diva-like behavior - the list goes back in time to painters and playwrights and Delphi oracles.

I don't know where I am going with this except to say that it's what I am gnawing on. How do we reconcile the art with the artist, or do we? Should we keep the two separate?

Putting the "ew" in Tuesday

2009-06-23T11:41:00.000-07:00

People have recently found this site by Googling both:

"Hot Woman Mrs. Robinson type"

and

"Nipple Ink"

I see my reputation precedes me.

* * *

In other news, I am now writing at MSN's Celebrity Babies. If you dislike both babies and celebrities, this is not the place for you. On the other hand, you can come and write your own thoughts about Jon and Kate and their Eight, or help decide with whom Jennifer Aniston should have a child, even if she actually doesn't want one. It's pretty much why we became sovereign from the British low those many years ago.

* * *

In other other news, this makes me laugh in all the wrong places: http://www.dontevenreply.com

Oh, noez.

2009-06-19T11:42:00.000-07:00

Nestle has recalled their big tube o' binge in the form of raw cookie dough, due to suspected cases of food poisoning. Dang! Just how am I supposed to eat my Friday night feelings now, Nestle?

Hey, Baby!

2009-06-18T17:00:00.000-07:00

Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka are hoping for a baby.

That's where I come in.

Do you think if Neil Patrick Harris wakes up and his disheveled baby nanny is spooning him, he'll be really really mad? Cuz I don't. I think David will get up to check on the babies (we're having twins) and then I'll get his side of the bed. And then NPH will tell me the weird dream he was having and we'll discuss the symbolism until morning.

It could work.

String, on finger, like so.

2009-06-17T00:06:00.001-07:00

I forgot about puppies. Puppies can be 80% house trained and run to the door and scratch on the glass with their tiny Frito toes to be let out, but then at 2 pm, they decide the bathroom throw rug is Pee Central. Every day.
I forgot about summer. Suddenly here we are, in summer. Home. All of us. Together. Full-time. At the same time. In one house. With the bathroom rugs, full of puppy urine.
I forgot about my blog. Not really, but I am trying to write Things and I do write them, for the most part, all day, and suddenly my words have been rung out of my head and I have nothing left for you. Might I offer you, in exchange, a slightly used bath mat?

2009-06-16T23:54:00.000-07:00

I'm in love with Tom Oatmeal.

Seriously?

2009-06-13T20:29:00.000-07:00

SF bay area craigslist > santa cruz > household

Wooden Toilet Paper holder - $2 (santa cruz)

Reply to: sale-rm9ky-1219926904@craigslist.org

Date: 2009-06-13, 11:54AM PDT

Wooden Toilet Paper holder that screws into the wall $2

it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1219926904

I keep this next to my bathroom mirror

2009-06-12T16:53:00.000-07:00

because no matter how rough I look, it isn't that rough.

Which one's Pink?

2009-06-09T21:02:00.000-07:00

On the way home from the gym tonight, just past sunset, the radio station I was not really listening to started playing the entire Dark Side Of The Moon album. I rolled my windows down and turned the music way up and recalled so clearly how that year, that teenage Pink Floyd year, was so! fraught! and! bittersweet!

And then I laughed out loud, alone in the car, because it suddenly hit me that every phase of my life until shockingly recently has been so! fraught! and! bittersweet! I am old. OLD. And I just figured that out NOW?

God bless my fifteenth year, and keep it far from me.

Shopping with eyes only

2009-06-08T09:19:00.000-07:00

Amazon's special deal today is the RAMBO DVD collection. Nothing says "Happy Father's Day, Sweetie!" like a vet gone mad in the jungle, in Blu-ray.

"Good" mom? Hah! Kick-ass mom!

2009-06-04T15:32:00.000-07:00

Over at Good Mom, Bad Mom, they were giving away a gift certificate to Ridemakerz, a make-it-yourself RC thingamajiger (like Build-A-Bear, but with remote control cars). And I won!

Only, I don't really enjoy the ol' remote control playscape the way I did back in 'Nam. So I passed it on to my child. And today, this came via hot FedEx guy:

And minutes later, we had this:

Please note that smiling with teeth is for chumps.

As if that weren't cool enough, today I discovered how to Hoffify:

A shot to the heart

2009-06-02T18:22:00.000-07:00

Today, I discovered, to my horror, that I am allergic to dressing rooms. How odd! As soon as I started trying on bathing suits, I swelled up like a blowfish.

I bought a two-piece, with a skirt, and I have some fundamental issues about the bathing suit skirt thing. It screams GRANDMA. And also DON'T LOOK AT MY THIGHS RIGHT HERE, DON'T LOOK AT THEM! IF I WEAR A SKIRT YOU WON'T NOTICE THAT I AM FAT! And also maybe a little of: I MIGHT JUST HAVE A PENIS, WHICH IS WHY I AM WEARING EXTRA FABRIC, BUT I AM BEING COY!

That said, it did look cute and sporty rather than "Fat Girl," or at least cute and sporty with a crotch curtain. And that's more than enough for me.

The wind beneath her heavy-boned wings

2009-05-29T15:10:00.000-07:00

A man called 911 to complain that some guys said his wife was "fat." And now he's being flayed in the press as, you know, overreacting.

No one has suggested my first guess -- that his wife came home, sobbing about the incident, and he said something along the lines of, "Oh, Honey! You're not that fat!"
(and she recently had a baby and so probably then killed him with her eyes)

And it went downhill from there.

I was curious and looked up other odd 911 calls - wow. Apparently there are a number of people who take their fast food really seriously. There's the guy who called 911 to complain he didn't get his Burger King orange juice, the lady who was denied chicken nuggets, and someone who really wanted her shrimp.

I see that others have suggested taking it up a notch, and I'm proposing this: We need a national emergency number just for fast food order issues. I will hire a cadre of state-by-state supervisors to take the calls and follow up, with tool belts stocked with fries, dipping sauce and Thorazine, hopefully while said supervisors are clad in superhero costume.
(I am going to whip up some smart capes, because every project goes better with capes.)

This could be, in fact, the thing that turns our economy around. If we can get federal funding, this is The New Deal for 2009, only we'll call it The New Meal.

This is Mabel.

2009-05-26T15:58:00.000-07:00

This is just one more reason why I am not blogging more often.

I wish you could see how gorgeous she is, how healthy and sweet, and how the combination of Black Lab and German Shepard and Something With Huge Paws have all mixed into A Pound Puppy of Complete Fuzzy Fabulousness. She is going to be one very large dog.

I hope she can nudge someone to get their next pet from a rescue person, or an animal shelter. Your local shelter probably lists new animals on Craigslist as they come in. Mine does. That includes puppies, if you are so inclined. I would prefer to not go through the sleepless nights and poopy days again; an older dog would suit me fine, but we went that route last time and had an undersocialized dog with anxiety who was neither safe nor happy around children. So, yeah, I caved to Teh Cute.

Mabel is a rescue puppy; she was slated to be euthanized in the shelter, along with the rest of her litter, due to horrendous overcrowding. She should be dead right now. Instead, she will spend the rest of her days being terrorized by me as I find more reasons to sniff her toes.

Off da hook!

2009-05-24T10:27:00.000-07:00

I just voted, online, on the better celebrity hairdo.

That tells you everything about my weekend you need to know.

Now with electric nipple action!

2009-05-22T14:06:00.000-07:00

Oh, science dudes. We still have too much cancer and not enough sanitation and galumphy golden retrievers who don't live past their fifteenth year, but you're spending your time and efforts on this? A breast-enhancing bra for more better much extra swelling taataas? Really?

Because, duh, all women want men to look at their boobies even more! Especially when it's hot and humid out and kids are hanging on us with their sticky Popsicle fingers and ohmygod I am so stabby!

Not only are they pushing the "get! bigger! boobs!" thing, but I resent the whole smart bra conceit that my boobs must perform EVEN MORE. They made actual food for babies, have an active and fulfilling sex life, hold up my swimsuit, lead the way into every room and fight a losing battle against gravity each damn minute -- now they have to hop up to get attention when I am overheated? Dude. My boobs are EXHAUSTED.

And call me drastically out-of-touch, but I do not know even one single woman -- anywhere -- who wants a breast-rection.

Where I Went

2009-05-18T12:27:00.000-07:00

My excuses are neither far nor far-between: I fostered six kittens and one of them flipped his intestines inside out like rolling a sock (temporarily), and the vet sent him back to us stitched up, with a helper kit of gloves and KY jelly in case he decided to once again show us his internal bits. And this is how I discovered my breaking point. And also the way I discovered how fast I can pack an overnight bag and inform my husband I will be down the road at the cheesy motel in order to avoid seeing that again. Good luck with that kitten sphincter project, Honey!

And a run of extremely bad luck made me think I was having a two-day-long panic attack, so I went to my doctor's office, only they heard me on the phone say "manic," (which I am not) instead of "panic," which who knows? because they acted like "Whoohoo! You may blow any second with your mania!" and I was all "What? Did I have an extra cup of coffee because teh! chest! pressure!" and then while being lectured by notmy doc on my "self-diagnosing" myself as "manic" -- someone get these people an ear candle -STAT! -- I walked out.

And then I discovered that, in fact, fewer cups of coffee was just as good as the meds they suspected I was jonesing for in my oddly calm/"but in the receptionist's notes, it says 'manic,' and notes never lie" state.

What else? I am soon to be writing an ongoing blog about celebrities and babies for MSN's Superfan site, which is teh! awesome! as they go together like chocolate and even more chocolate! My goal is to discover how many celebs have baby-made stretch marks as bad as mine (in my EAR, even!), and then we will commiserate and then Salma Hayek will be my BFF.

And, I have been writing about the best way to defend yourself from the deadly attacks of a grumpy chimpanzee.

May: It's the month for learning!