Photo of the day: Ladybug, Ladybug

She's small, but she's there. Diligently climbing up a tree. Sure, she can fly, but the climb is good for her hips and butt. She tries to get in at least 30 minutes of cardio a day and hasn't touched Godiva in weeks. What an inspiration!

Cat of the week: Sirius
Today's cat of the week was a tough choice. He lives in "The Condo of Love". Five amazing kitties, all of them vying for my lap. It was a purr-fest. Lots of cuddling, grooming each other and general sweetness. Any of these kitties (Smokey, Cat, Peggy Sue, or Kelsey) would make an excellent companion, but Sirius really stood out.

He was the first in my lap and was very patient and accepting when the other cats basically walked or laid on top of him to get their share of attention. Sirius is incredibly soft with a heart-melting purr and big expressive eyes. He will make some lucky person or family a fantastic lap cat.

If you're interested in this 2-year old pure black sweetheart (ID# A442517) visit the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA website.

Me, Me and More Me
My good friend Finny has set me a challenge. On her wonderful (amusing, snarky, fascinating, informative, hilarious, wish-I-could-be-that-funny blog) she answered five interview questions as posed by Kristin at Going Country. For some god unknown reason, she chose me to continue the trend. Now I feel the amazing pressure to come up with interesting answers. I have to pee. I may need a cold compress. I'm not good under pressure (remember the whole ulcer incident of 2008?) I'm scared, hold me.

If you could undo one shitty thing you've done in your life, what would it be?

I dated a guy in college (who we'll call "Ben" although his real name was "Lee") who, it turned out, was also sleeping with a "friend" of mine (we'll call her "Bertha" although her real name was "Abby.") I saw them together, though they didn't know I saw them. The next day Ben and I were going spend the day together. I suggested going down to Monterey. I drove. When we got to the Mission we got out and I "went back to the car for the camera." Got in, drove off. Left him there. When he saw me he ran back to the car and I rolled down the window enough to tell him to call Abby for a ride home.

I would really like to take that back.

I would have liked to have done something that fucked Abby as well.


What is your biggest WT (white trash) food indulgence?

Where to start? I grew up in a total WT household. However, since my mother may be the worst cook since Lucretia Borgia, I don't actually crave any of the food I grew up with because, hey, I'm screwed up but I'm not suicidal. In spite of that I have a lot of white trashiness in my kitchen on occasion. Ruffles (gotta have them in football season). Mashed potatoes. Biscuits.

But the ultimate for me is Rice Krispie Treats. I make a batch at least once a year. There's just something about that Mess'o'Pot'o'Marshmallows that I adore. Especially when they're fresh. Once they get stale they're an abomination under the Lord. But when they are just made, and even still warm, I could easily eat the entire pan. I never have, but I've wanted to. Oh that crunchy-sticky goodness. Come to Mama.

If you could be The Best at anything - ANYTHING - what would it be?

Making money. I'd rather be the best actress in the history of the theatre, the best photographer in the history of film, or the best writer since Shakespeare. But I'd settle for having more money than god. Seriously, I wanna be filthy, stinking rich. That way I can do anything else. And, since I'd make Bill Gates look like a pauper, people would happily kiss my ass and tell me I'm the best at everything in the hopes that I'd adopt them. And, again, look at my bank account, I wouldn't have to do any of those things. I could just sit back, let my investments make me orgasmic, and spend my days playing with animals, napping, reading trashy novels, taking pictures, and generally giving the finger to the rest of the world.

Would you rather be hotter or smarter?
Probably smarter. I'm already so hot you need special glasses just to look at me. But I would love to be brilliant enough to do something like find a cure for AIDS or figure out how to use my juicer.

If you could make one person - celebrity, non-celebrity, public figure, past or present - vanish from existence, who would it be?

Tough question. The instinctive answer is Hitler. But as a historian, I'm dubious about the wisdom of fucking with the past. (Hey, I've seen Star Trek). I mean we wouldn't be who we all are now as a planet without WWII and the horrors of the Holocaust. So while I'd like to save those millions of people, I'm not sure about the whole thing.

My second answer would be Christ because I think we'd be better off without organized religion. But again, past, fuck with, see also "seriously screwed".

I guess I'll have to go with someone around today whose absence wouldn't upset the Space-Time Continuum but who we could easily do without (without whom we could easily do?). It's a toss-up between Jessica Simpson and Keanu Reeves. So my answer is Reverend Phelps, the brain-dead anti-homosexual zealot who stages protests at funerals of soldiers because they're fighting a war to "protect gay sex."

In the spirit of Internet closeness, if you want to continue the interview drop me a line. I don't think anyone will because (unlike Finny) I have all of two readers (Finny and Husband), but if you're lurking and want me to toss you five random questions let me know.

Photo of the day: Pod People

Careful, if you get too close to this pod the berries explode and you'll turn into a giant, mutant worm. It's true, I saw it happen outside of the library where these things grow.

Phases of the Mood
Do you go through phases or is it just me?

Sometimes I think my entire life has been a series of phases. Odd phases. Like for weeks on end I'll want nothing but English muffins for breakfast. Then, suddenly, I decide cereal is what I want and I'll ignore English muffins for a few months. Or I'll be in the mood for reading classic British mysteries. Agatha Christie, Dorothy L. Sayers, Ngaio Marsh, Margery Allingham. One after the other. And then, poof, I'm onto biographies.

What causes that, do you think? Why does something that sounds so appealing one day turn completely uninteresting the next? What happened between yesterday and today, for example, that made me decide that I really don't want yogurt? I'm still the same person. The yogurt is still my favorite flavor (non-fat vanilla). I still need to have lunch. But I just can't bring myself to grab a spoon.

For some reason I'm in a "I don't want to review music" phase. Part of my responsibilities as a music genre director and a DJ is that I have to listen to and write reviews of the new CDs into the station. I have a stack here at hand. Both world music for my stash and a few jazz CDs for Husband's. And yet I cannot bring myself to pop one in. I know it has to be done. I know I have a deadline coming up, that I will have to have at least three CDs reviewed by Sunday in order to have an add for the next week. But I just have no desire to do it. I'm fast running out of time. Tomorrow it cat duty (yay!) so I have today and Saturday. And yet I still procrastinate.

The mind is a funny thing. I'm sure a psychologist or psychoanalyst would be able to explain why humans are creatures of caprice. Why, all of a sudden, I have an urge to bake cookies or a desire to never drink lemon tea ever again. But, at the moment, I wish I could get into a "get off your ass and review some music" phase.

Photo of the day: Bricks and Web

When I first started this whole "Photo of the Day" thing is was an excuse to get me back into my favorite hobby, photography. It's taking me a while. I haven't yet captured anything amazing but then I haven't gone too far afield. Today I challenged myself to walk one block from my house and take as many photos as I could of anything that looked interesting. This is one of the images that appealed to me. I may have to start doing challenges more often. Make one week a "yellow" theme and force myself to find a yellow subject every day. Or a "parts of cars" week. Anyway, if you've got a theme idea, please let me know. I need all the help I can get. In the meantime, I'm really enjoying seeing the world through my viewfinder again. Hope you're enjoying it too.

Photo of the day: Kilmer's Ode

Sometimes you need a reminder to look up.

In praise of the good guy

Whoever said "nice guys finish last" was an idiot.

I like nice guys. I'm married to a nice guy and I couldn't be happier. A nice guy is what I wanted and, luckily, what I found.

I've had friends who always seemed to fall for the "bad boy." The one who looks like trouble. The one who, stereotypically, drove a motorcycle or had tattoos long before tattoos were the fashion accessory of choice for 16-year olds. Bad boys who had broken up with their last girlfriend (not really), was going to pay you back (yeah, right), and who were just misunderstood (poor things). Me? Never wanted one. I mean I went out with one or two, but just to go out. Shoot pool maybe or go to a blues bar. But I never wanted a relationship with one and certainly never, ever wanted one long-term.

Back when I was single someone asked me what kind of guy I was looking for. I had only three requirements. He had to have a great sense of humor. He had to be smart. And he had to be nice. "Nice" seems almost like an insult when your talking about the opposite sex. "Oh, you'll like Sally, she's such a nice woman." You'll take to mean "she looks like Phillis Diller." When applied to men, it's even worse "Bob is really nice guy." Translates to: Bob still lives at home and his favorite place to take dates is Denny's.

But I was never turned off by nice. To me nice meant "having a big heart, Having consideration for others. "Cares about the world and its animals." Nice is what I wanted. Sign me up for nice.

Instead I meet this guy at KZSU. All I know is he's a Jazz god. Knows everything about everthing. Who recorded with Charlie Parker on what album. What year Monk wrote Epistrophy. Who played drums in the Duke Ellington band. He knew these things. He'd learned to love jazz while living in New York and grew up on classic soul in Philadelphia. My image is some well-dressed urban sophisticate, the kind who knows those underground clubs where you sit at round tables you share with strangers and you sip martinis. Yeah, way, way, way too cool for me. I'm wearing jeans and a red combat beret with my honorary airborne pin. SO his type, obvously. But man, did he ever have a truly sexy voice. I thought he's borderline bad boy (although you can't be all bad if you love Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald, Thelonious Sphere Monk, and Django and Bix, and Cab and the Duke.)

I figured with his urban polish he'd be looking for some artistically dressed lady who actually own heels and a dress and who would sit with him at these jazz clubs, nursing a Cosmopolitan and nodding her head at all the right passages in the band.

Luckily for me he didn't want the jazz version of the bad girl. He wanted well, whatever I am. And whatever it is, we've done it. We're together, and happy. I'm more bad girl that he is bad boy but he is more nice guy than I am good girl, It works, even if it doesn't make sense. The sharp-dressed urban jazz club habitue with his bow ties and his notebork can walk into a show he's going to review and people don't notice the woman he's win, in the jeans, sneakers, and sweater. We may look an odd couple, but it works for us.

But it's the niceness that makes it all work. We're nice to each other. When we need a favor, we ask nicely. If we have something important to discuss, we discuss it nicely. We treat each other like the best friends that we are and, therefore, with respect and affection. And it's......nice.

The great thing about nice is that you can call nice up at 3 am and say "my car is broken could you please come." Nice will have the keys in hand before you can hang up. If you call bad boy you're liable to get the "other woman " wanting to know who the fuck you are. But nice is never like that. Nice is clear and generous and thoughtful. Oh sure, nice can make mistakes, but they will be atoned for appropriately. And that, in itself, is a comfort. I know that if Husband and I disagree we won't call each other names or toss the other's shoes out a window. No, we would talk it out calmly, knowing that we had the same goal. We might disagree but we don't use it as a way to hurt the other. Because deep down, beneath the love, there is the "I like you" that was there at the beginning and will always be there. It's something I learned from my friends. All of whom are nice. All of whom I love.

So if you're looking, don't settle for the bad boy. Sure, they have their place. And maybe every woman needs one or two in her past. But for the long term, you can't go wrong with a nice guy. And usually they're the ones that need your love the most because you're the first person to ever see past the playboys, the athletes, the millionaire-dropouts, the foreign guy who will break your heart (and those of several of your girlfriends)...and finally there he is. A good guy. My advice? Take him out for a test drive.

Oh, and one last reminded. "Nice" does not equal "boring". Nice just means considerate, kind, generous, open. It doesn't mean he's going to lecture you in a monotone on the history of how the spool was invented. Go nice....I highly reccommend it.

Photo of the day: Stripes

Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) always closes her eyes when I try to take her photograph. As a consequence, I have dozens of pictures of her looking asleep. So this time I took an extreme close up that she couldn't ruin by shutting her eyes. I tried to get her crop circle, but had to settle for stripes. Umm....soft.

Photo of the day: Tuning

Tuned into a radio station that no longer exists. Perhaps somewhere in the ether you can still hear echoes of "Fibber McGee and Molly" or "Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy." If you can, this knob will help you find them. And if you do, please let me know.

Photo of the day: Fridge as Gallery

You can tell a lot about a home by what's on the refrigerator. Children's artwork? A shopping list? From ours you can tell we like art, Philadelphia, Egyptology, and that we've been on a plane at least once.