The Glaucoma Hymn!
Sometimes something comes along that makes me so happy I'm giddy. The Glaucoma Hymn is one of those things. It's so awful that I love it. Happy, happy, happy, that's what I am. The entire website it atrocious, and was voted one of the worst of 2005. You can check out the other winners...uh....losers as voted by Web Pages That Suck. Trust me, every one is a dirty, stinking gem. I love the one from the Vatican especially.

Happy, happy, happy!

Love the chintz!
I know that your home "makes a statement." Whether that statement is "I'm so rich I can afford to make my house look like a crumbling Tuscan ruin" or whether it's "look! I have no taste!" is a mystery only your visitors can unlock. But this book review made me laugh. I'm not a "house whore" (though given the ability to buy a house I'd become a total decor addict), but I know people like this.

Songs that make you go "Ack!"
Well, CNN voters have chimed in on the worst songs of all time. I must say, they certainly picked some winners....uh....I mean losers. Number 1 is the apalling "You're Having My Baby" by Paul Anka. Is your least favorite on the list?

Huh?
The Fourth Bad Writing Contest has been won (or lost, as the case may be). Check out the atrocious winner here.

Finally!
Yes, finally Christians are fighting fire with fire. Check out these wonderful ads from Faith in America urging people to stop hating homosexuals in the name of religion. The are fabulous, and very much needed.

Name that tune
Everything you ever wanted to know about Muzak. Actually, this story is quite interesting. More so than their music...

Aw, those poor, persecuted Christians
Imagine how terrible they feel. Being picked on and maligned. According to them, Tom DeLay was ousted as majority leader not because he broke the law, but becaust he is a Christian.

While reading this article, I swear I could feel my blood pressure rising. I must be one of those who "despise the cause of Christ" because I don't do the whole god thing. Never mind that you don't need religion to give you a moral backbone (Thou shalt not kill. Duh!), never mind that I believe in the whole Golden Rule thing and I also believe everyone has the right to worship (or not) in their own way. Never mind that I am a member of the ACLU, which is dedicated to protecting the Constitution and, especially, the Bill of Rights (remember Freedom of Religion folks?). Nope, I am the enemy.

Poor things, I feel so sorry for them. So sorry that I feel the need to give a bit extra this month to the Human Rights Campaign which actually understands so-called "Christian" concepts like, compassion, acceptance and, above all, love.

Dream trip
Oh to be filthy rich! This article on seeing the Northern Lights as a dream trip has me totally jealous. I wanna go!

What he said...
Why do I love Jon Carroll? (In a perfectly platonic way, tinged only by a huge case of writer's envy.) Because he says what I think. Read this.

Code breakers
As someone who has always been fascinated by the role cryptology played in WWII, I found this article to be of great interest.

It seems that someone decided to harness the Internet and the power of volunteered, idling compuers, to try and track the remianing Nazi "Enigma" codes that hadn't been broken by the genius codebreakers of Bletchley Park. They've succeeded in deciphering one of them...there are more to go. Cool!

And speaking of hate...
In support of my post (below) about the Southern Poverty Law Center, I present this horrifying story. Thirteen-year-old white supremicist twin singers. Their story and their comments, frankly, make me nauseous.

While I realize the chances of any of those types of people reading this are slim, I nevertheless need to take this opportunity to vent.

These people seem to think they are superior, by virtue of having been born white. And they believe that anyone of African descent is, therefore, inferior. In fact their lives are so distorted by hate, they view African-Americans as so far inferior as to be undeserving of civil liberties, equal rights, or basic human respect.

To them I say that, with that attitude, you will never be as wise as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. You will never have the capacity to spread joy of Louis Armstrong. You will never have the courage of Rosa Parks, Harriet Tubman, or Frederick Douglass. You will never have enough depth of feeling to create anything as beautiful as works by James Baldwin, Duke Ellington, Maya Angelou, or Thelonious Monk. You will never bring light and humor in the way that Bill Cosby or Whoopi Goldberg can. You will never fire people with inspiration like Malcom X , Muhammad Ali, or the Little Rock Nine. You will never travel into space like Mae Jemmison, contribute to medical research like Percy Lavon Jullian, or make international discoveries, like George Washington Carver. You will not make the world a better place, like Nelson Mandela. You will never be as important as Colin Powell, W.E.B. Du Bois, or Jackie Robinson.

And all this is as it should be. Because the best thing for people like you is to be forgotten.

Worth your support
If you don't know the Southern Poverty Law Center, you should. It began as a small Civil Rights law firm back in the "separate but equal" days, and since become inernationally known for its tolerance education.

As long-time supporters of the SPLC, we receive their regular journal, which is designed to terrify and anger those of us who have crazy ideas like "all men are created equal." This month's journal focuses on white supremacist organizations, angry anti-immigration activists, and various other upsetting groups and individuals. There's also an article on this lunatic "scientist" whose homophobic "research" while having been soundly denounced by experts, is still touted as an authority on why homosexuality is evil. (My favorite of his outrageous "facts" is this: according to him, lesbians are 300% more likely to die in a car accident than heterosexual women!)

If any of you have a little extra cash (and I know money is tight for us all), they're a great group that you might want to consider supporting. And even if you can't spare the cash, check out their website for more information on how you can get involved in the fight against intolerance and bigotry.

Into Olympics withdrawal
Well, the winter Olympics are over, and I'm already into withdrawal. Screw the "Olympics? What Olpymics?" attitude that apparently most of America had. I and my sweetie were glued to the TV for two weeks, completely caught up in Olympic fever.

And while I couldn't care less about the over-hyped, under-achieving Bode Miller, and found the equally ballyhooed women's figure skating to be thoroughly dull, I must admit that my revelation for the games is this:

Biathalon rules! What a cool sport. OK, on paper the concept of cross-country skiing yourself into exhaustion, only to stop and shoot at a target, seems like a ridiculous waste of time and energy. But oh my goodness, does it make for compelling TV viewing. (No, I'm not kidding!)

What I loved about it is how quickly the lead could change. Some guy skiis to the first shooting stage a full minute ahead the rest of the crew, misses two out of five shots, has to ski a 150 meter penalty loop, and suddenly some unknown from Latvia is in the lead. I lost track of just how many times that happened...the favorite totally implodes at a shoot, someone back in the pack shoots clean, and all of a sudden you've got a new leader. It's fascinating. Plus, at the end, there's frequently a crazy dash for the finish line that cannot help but get you screaming "go! go!' for that one guy from Finland that you just want to win.

Totally addicting.

On a side not, it's official, I think Apolo Anton Ohno is cool. I like how gracious and genuine he is in the face of both victory and defeat. He and the generosity of Joey Cheek completely redeemed the otherwise vaguely dull and, times, cringe-worthy American team (a tiara? on a ski helmet?).

Scary food!
OK, be prepared to laugh so hard you'll give yourself a seizure. This is the funniest thing I've seen in ages. The captions are hilarious...whoever wrote them is a genius.

Sick of X-sports at the Olympics?
Yeah, me too. That's why I loved this opinion piece from the LA Times.

Happiness
While researching love poetry for an upcoming radio show, I came across this, which was too wonderful not to share.

Happiness
by Carl Sandburg

I asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me,
what is happiness.
And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands
of men.
They all shook their heads and gave me a smile, as though I
was trying to fool with them.
And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Des Plaines
River
And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their
women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

And gay people are an abomination?
This I can't believe.

Anti-gay crusader and all around asshole Fred Phelps and his band of inbred loonies are now going around to military funerals and holding protests. According to this genius, American deaths in Iraq are "divine punishment" for a country that "harbors homosexuals." So these idiots go to funerals carrying signs thanking god for explosives. And these people think they're Christian?!?

Enter a group of bikers who are going to the same funerals with flags and doing what they can to shield the grieving families from the taunts of the Reverend and his Klan of renown.

The CNN article is, frankly, both hilarious and terrifying. I mean how can people think like that? How can they believe that it's ok to make someone's sorrow worse by mocking their funeral, but that it's not OK for two adults who love each other to get married?

You know, there's just nothing I can say...

Cute overload
Your head just might explode, but here's a site with the cutest animal photos ever.

And speaking of the Olympics
Am I the only one in America who'd rather see the one Kenyan bobsledder actually make his run than hear yet another story about the over-rated, over-inflated Bode Miller? No, I thought not.

More random thoughts about the Olympics:
- Why, oh why, are all Olympic mascots so terrifying? The ice cube and snowball from hell characters above? Creepy! Nightmare-inducing, creepy. Hold me.
- Memo to the snowboarding broadcasters: What language were you speaking? Oh, and "podium" is not a verb. Never has been. Learn, people, learn.
- So many athletes. So many iPods. Oh the humanity!
- The Russian speedskating uniforms are an abomination unto us all.
- The opening ceremonies were....um....odd. Let's see, we'll get a Ferrari, some skaters with jet packs, a guy with an anvil, and Yoko Ono. Yup, got all we need. Pass the popcorn.
- Why does everyone sound like they're yelling the same languge in curling? Someone hurls a rock and instantly gets incomprehensible. Whether it's Danish, Finnish, or English, it all sounds exactly the same.
- Why don't those poor non-winter sports countries who want an Olympic team put together a curling squad? Infinitely safer than having some poor hapless African guy strap himself to a bobsled and roll off to his doom.

Don't buy that!
The Compact is a Bay Area group fed up with rampant consumerism. They've taken a pledge not to buy anything new in 2006, except for food, health item,s and underwear. Everything else must come from thrift shops, friends, or other outlets. It's an intriguing idea. I'm already a huge fan of thrift shops and used book and record stores....and I'm not a shopaholic. But I'm not sure if I could do this. Could you?

No more frying pans!

NOTE: Since posting this, I noticed CNN has changed the headline to "Bush urges end to violence over cartoons." I guess I'm not the only one who had visions of the RoadRunner.

This article on cnn.com deals with the escalating violence over the cartoon in Denmark. President Bush, always one for turning the other cheek (kidding) has urged that things just settle down. OK, nice sentiment but doubt it'll have any effect at all.

But what cracks me up is the headline of the article reads "Bush urges end to cartoon violence." Um....so Wile E. Coyote can no longer go "boom" via an Acme bomb? No more getting hit in the face with a frying pan to that satisfying "boooiiiinnnng" noise? No more Elmer Fudd trying to shoot Bugs Bunny and having the gun explode in his face?

How sad....Saturday mornings will seem so dull compared to the local jihad.

Thank you, Mrs. King
For as long as I can recall, at every place I've worked, I've written a quote for the day on a whiteboard. Even if I was the only one who ever bothered to read it, at least I could count on starting every morning with something inspiring, quirky, bitchy, or just plain smart-assed.

Often my quotes are relevant to my situation at work, current affairs, or commemorating a specific date.

Today's quote is "Hatred is too great a burden to bear. It injures the hater more than it injures the hated," which was said by the late Coretta Scott King. And underneath today's quote I wrote "Thank you, Mrs. King."

While leaving my office to go get some water, a random person asked what I was thanking Mrs. King for. It rather took me aback. I replied that I was thanking her for spending her life as a champion of civil rights. That she'd never, even in the past few years, given up being an activist for equal rights for all.

And this guy asked, "is there still a fight for civil rights?"

Wow. What a question. I guess being a straight white guy in the rarified liberal climate of Northern California probably makes it seem like there's no longer any fight left, but I had to say that yes, there is still a fight.

That was my short answer. What I wanted to say was that until my gay friends can marry, then civil rights is still an issue. Until groups like the Aryan Brotherhood and the Klan stop recruiting people to hate others, then yes, civil rights is still an issue.

If you look at civil rights as the "rights" to live in a "civilized" society, then the battle is far from over. We may not have apartheid as an institution, but there is still a negative division between the majority of African Americans and the majority of European Americans. We may have the separation of church and state, but we have politicians who want to push a Christian agenda onto everyone through the teaching of so-called "Intelligent Design." Homosexuality may not be illegal, but it is also not exactly legal either. Especially when so-called "Christians" preach the gospel according to Saint Everyone is Wrong But Me and announce, with no logic whatsoever, that gay marriage threatens the sanctity of straight marriage. We may have freedom of speech on paper, but disagreeing with the current administration gets you labeled as a traitor. We may preach that America is the land of the free, and the great melting-pot, but those with Arabic-sounding names have come under criticism and hostility for nothing more than their ethnicity and their faith.

Dr. and Mrs. King did so much for the United States, and for the world as a whole. But the fight is far from over. If we've learned nothing from their commitment to equality, let us at least take away the message that the fight will be long and hard. In a world of cardboard heroes whose only claim to fame is being famous, it's good to be reminded of what real heroes and heroines are like. I can never claim to have the wisdom, the courage, or the strength of the Kings...but I can honestly say that I desire to be worthy of the legacy they gave to us all.

Long live Zookeeper!
The seriously cool online playlist keeper/database/goodie bag at KZSU, Stanford. In case you want to see what I've been playing, read some of my reviews, or otherwise check up on the sound of At the Cafe Bohemian, check out my page in the DJ Zone.

Who knew?
Who knew that Mussolini had a jazz-playing son? Romano Mussolini has died in Italy at the age of 79. He was apparently a high-respected jazz pianist who played with, among others, Dizzie Gillespie, Duke Ellington, and Chet Baker.

What an odd world it is.

Oh the humanity!
It's bad. It's culturally offensive. It's hilarious. It's David Hasselhoff and he's Hooked on a Feeling!

Two more Caravaggios!
Perhaps only those of us who studied Art History will be at all excited by this, but two paintings discovered in a French church have just been declared to be by Caravaggio.

The bad boy of the Renaissance is one of my all-time favorite artists (what can I say? I'm a sucker for someone who realizes that wandering around the holy lands in the time of Christ would probably lead to dirty feet and torn clothes -- rather than white robes and golden halos).

Any day that delivers two unexpected Caravaggios to the world has to be considered a good day!

R.I.P. Fayard Nicholas
I love the Nicholas Brothers. Fayard and Harold Nicholas were two of the most charismatic dancers ever captured on film. Made Astaire look like a super-sophisticated hack too cool to break a sweat.

From way back in 1934 when Samuel Goldwyn cast them in Kid Millions with Eddie Cantor, to their last movie in 1948 (The Pirate with Gene Kelly). Those two with their flawless style, unbridled energy, and trademark splits made every scene they were in truly memorable.

Fayard Nicholas died today at the age of 91. They were both irreplacable. Luckily, I have his autograph.

We regret the error...
How often have you seen that phrase, buried on page 7 of a newspaper that has to grovelingly report that they misidentified someone in a photo or made a claim in one of their stories that was, well, just plain wrong? Thanks fo Jon Carroll (my favorite columnist) I now know about Regret the Error a website of retractions -- many of them really odd and/or really funny.

What? Survivor contestants cheating???
Oooh, breaking news! Apparently an ex-Survivor contestent is claiming some of the contestants cheat.

Um...and this is surprising why? Let me see if I get this straight....here's a "contest" where the winner seems to be the person who can lie and backstab well enough to get everyone else on his or her side, and we're supposed to be apalled that perhaps people aren't exactly honest about how they play the game?

People, please, find something else to get upset about. Like, oh, perhaps a war?

The power of punctuation
As an editor-type person, I have a fondness for punctuation. I just came across this example of how punctuation can completely change the meaning of a phrase:

1. A woman, without her man, is nothing.
2. A woman: without her, man is nothing

That's all.

Remembering Poe
I love this story. For the past 57 years, a mystery mourner has left roses and abottle of cognac on the grave of Edgar Allan Poe to mark his January 19th birthday. This year was no exception. I love cool things like this...

Does the Pope like acrobats?
I don't know why, perhaps lack of caffeine, but this photo struck me as being highly surreal. The caption from the BBC website where I found this reads: Pope Benedict XVI watches Italian circus artists perform during his weekly general audience at the Vatican.

I always thought "an audience with the Pope" meant that you got to see the Pope....not that the Pope was the audience and you had to entertain him.

Forget Columbus Day!
We may have to start celebrating Zheng He Day. A 1763 Chinese map that claims to be a copy of an original map drawn in 1418 shows Africa and the Americas. Although the story is controversial, it's been a long-held belief that Chinese mariners did, in fact, sail to America long before that upstart Columbus.

Kipling speaks!
And so does Tennyson, Yeats, and Langston Hughes. Plus dozens of contemporary English-language poets. It's the Poetry Archive and, best of all, you can listen for free!

Ironic...and sick
There's always at least one headline on CNN.com that makes me go "huh." Today's stumper is Mummified body found in front of TV which in itself sounds like an ironically fitting commentary on American society.

Apparently this woman died over two years ago, and left instructions that she didn't want to be buried. However, in the third paragraph is a link to a video which I cannot bring myself to follow. It seems that this woman had a caretaker, and CNN urges us to "watch why the caregiver thought body parts grew back." To which I can only say "no, I do not wish to watch why this woman's caregiver thought body parts grew back."

I'm sure the explanation is twistedly fascinating, but I also have no desire to find out just exactly why someone would think this.

It's a weird world.

Another case of "who the f**k?"
On CNN.com is this earth-shattering headline Scott Stapp announces engagement. Oh good. Who the hell is he and why should we care. Is this a plea for fondue sets? Will CNN also publish the couple's "save the date" cards?

Why, oh why has the American media made it its goal to publicize every tiny detail of every pitiful life of every no-talent hack in the world?

Book Report: The Barbary Plague

It's easy to think of the Bubonic Plague as a medieval affliction only, but it's still around. Cases are reported every year in many countries around the world, including the US. Thankfully, most outbreaks are isolated, and nothing like the what was experienced in San Francisco in the first years of the 20th century.

Starting in 1900 with an outbreak in Chinatown that terrified and terrorized the inhabitants, and reaching its height in the aftermath of the great earthquake and fire or 1906, the Plague was a major threat to public health in the city by the bay.

In The Barbary Plague: The Black Death in Victorian San Francisco,author Marilyn Chase details the history of the outbreak in SF, shows how political in-fighting and back-room shenanigans almost derailed the efforts to protect the city, and explores the lives of those who risked their own health to help protect others.

It's a well-researched and well-written book, which should be a good read for those with an interest in the history of SF, the history of medicine, or looking for examples of how public policy was formed. It's especially intriguing for the glimpse at the racism the Chinese of San Francisco faced in the new century.

I found many of the individuals in the book to be fascinating, including Joseph Kinyoun, a doctor whose lack of political tact led to his being nearly railroaded out of the city, in spite of the fact he was sincere in his efforts to stop the spread of the disease. Another compelling character, about whom I'd like to know more, is "Boss" Abe Reuf, one of those larger-than-life types that make early San Francisco history read like something from a Preston Sturgis film. After placing a hand-picked candidate in as mayor, and accepting payoffs from nearly everyone in town, he was eventually indicted on something like 65 counts of taking bribes.

Who the F**K is Ryan Seacrest???

Ok, I know I'm so far out of touch with popular culture that I couldn't reach it with a map and a dead albatross, but could somebody please tell me who the hell Ryan Seacrest is and why he's famous?

As far as I can tell, he's famous for being famous.

He's not an actor. Or a singer. I think he may "host" a reality TV show or something. He may also do the odd celebrity interview before major awards shows, or something equally useless. But really...why?

He's not attractive, his...well, sort of moist and doghy. He's entirely artificial (Ryan Seacrest? Yeah, that's your real name.), completely without charisma as far as I can tell, and all-around a bad idea.

Does anybody remember when you had to actually be well-known to be a "star?" I find it hilarious how I'll pick up a People magazine at the hairdressers and flip through pages of people I've never heard of, under headlines like "Superstar Prisccilla Pointless Bares it All at Cannes!" Ooh....goodie. Who is that? And why does her nose look like it fell off and was stuck back on with Superglue?

In today's disposible culture of fame, apparently it takes nothing more than having 3 out of 5 people think you're attractive in order to become a celebrity.

Which still doesn't explain who the hell Ryan Seacrest is and why we should care.

Attack of the J-Pop
And speaking of KZSU...

Last night, being the first Tuesday of the month, I was joined on my show by DJ Cho-beri-ba for another edition of "Tokyo Radio Tsumami." As usual, I played an hour of new world music (that's music that is both new and world...not "new world" music which sounds all "oh, we have found the new world"-ish). Then we (Ok, he) played 2-hours of hyper-caffeinated Japanese pop music from artists such as Porno Graffiti, B'z, and the ever-bubbly Morning Masume.

During the evening we spoke a bit about the Red & White Singing Festival (see below), and found that, once again, our tastes are completely different. While I was screaming in hilarity over the surreality of artists such as Gorie and whoever it was who had dancing Darth Vaders and Stormtroopers as part of their act, he was hitting the fast-forward button in order to watch his favorite artists actually sing.

Honestly, some people just don't get it.

Broaden your musical horizons in 2006
Entertainment Weekly, that bible for the "tell me what to think" crowd has released its dull and pointless list of the best music of 2005. No offense to list-sitters Fiona Apple, Kanye West and others, but I would like to suggest that if you aren't already musically adventurous, that you strike out some new territory for a new year.

I don't really want to make a list of the best, because there were so many amazing releases in 2005...nor do I claim that my suggestions are better than EW's....just a bit more interesting because so few people know about them.

Some of my highlights for the year:

Up and Down by the Palm Wine Boys. This SF Bay Area-based band released a quiet, fun little album that quickly became one of my favorites of the year. It's melodic folk/pop/West African Palm Wine music that cannot help but improve your mood. Honest. Trust me.

Chavez Ravine by Ry Cooder. This concept album about the destruction of a Latino neighborhood to make way for LA's Dodger Stadium is a musical buffet. A wide variety of musical styles, all of them played with flair and panache, make for a truly varied and engaging listen.

Celtic Crossroads, yet another wonderful Putumayo compilation. This one features glorious vocal harmonies, tight playing, and a sweet and captivating selection of music. And speaking of compilations...

Swing Around the World, also from Putumayo, is a fun, funky, hip-shaking, grin-inducing gas. You'll smile, you'll dance around the kitchen, you'll have a fine old time. Truly one of the most joyful, playful releases in ages.

Prototyp by Hurdy-Gurdy. Two members of Nordic superbands Garmarna and Hedningarna team up for a crazy, delicious, original selection of instrumental songs all created by morphing sounds of hurdy-gurdies into a sort of ancient/modern synth mix. Too hard to describe, just listen.

I know, that's only five...but I have work to do.

P-E-C-O-R-I Night!
So how was your New Year's Eve?

One of the traditions Forrest and I have for that evening is our annual viewing of the NHK Red & White Singing Festival, courtesy of KTSF in San Francisco. It's a 56-year old festival that is, apparently, the most watched annual TV event in Japan and it is truly, truly odd.

Teams of male (the white team) performers alternate with female (the red team) to perform everything from hyper-caffeinated J-pop to tear-wrangling ballads....and everything in between. The costuming and set designs are (you must read this with a hugely affected drag queen accent) faaabulous! Dancing cartoon characters. Women in break-away dresses. The Japanese Simon & Garfunkel on acoustic folk, followed by hoards of 13-year old look-alike girls with cheesy Dance Fever choreography.

This year's highlight, though, had to be Gorie, a female impersonator (competing for the women's team) dressed like a cheerleader, surrounded by blinding dozens of other cheerleaders, and go-teaming his/her way through a Japanese version of that epic 70s classic Saturday Night. (Remember the Bay City Rollers?) This version (called Pecori Night) was a veritable feast for the senses and only slightly terrifying. Gorie (that's the famous Gorie, above) was on the losing team, but did bring me nearly to tears with laughter.

Happy new year, everyone. May 2006 be as surreal as a Gorie cheer.

Pet Peeves #247
"Not available in all areas." Hey, marketing folks, when you put that ridiculous disclaimer at the end of ads for your new product, what you are really saying is "this product is not available..in any area." What you mean to say is "not available in some areas." Learn the difference, people.

Land Rovers. Why, oh why, in the name of humanity does anyone in the Bay Area need a Land Rover? OK, maybe if you live in the Santa Cruz mountains and it floods a lot in the winter -- but come on, folks...you commute on 280 from San Francisco to Cupertino and you need a Land Rover? And why would anyone buy them anyway, they all seem to be defective...not one of them seems to have working turn signals.

The Little Drummer Boy. Worst Christmas carol ever written. All those endless "rum-pah-pah-pums." Good lord, it's enough to make the "dreidel" song look like Rock Around the Clock.

Halelujah!
Do you know the Fairfield Four? Being a thorough pagan, I am completely non-religious, but this is the most wonderful, most spirtually uplifting, and just plain most fun music I've heard in ages. Listen to a sample of their version of Children Go Where I Send Thee. If it doesn't get you up, swaying and clapping, you have no soul.

Deep spam
In checking my e-mail this morning, I came accross one with the subject line "mispronounciation." Since I did my radio show last night, and since I always mispronounce the artists on my show, I thought it was a listener sending in some advice on an artist or song.

Instead it was the oddest, must cryptic not ever. I'm assuming it was spam, but not sure what the point it. I quote it in full:

"himself: Woe is me! How I have deceived myself! These feet which
would have saved me I despised, and I gloried in these antlers
which have proved my destruction.
What is most truly valuable is often underrated.
The Jackdaw and the Fox
A HALF-FAMISHED JACKDAW seated himself on a fig-tree, which had
produced some fruit entirely out of season, and waited in the
hope that the figs would ripen. A Fox seeing him sitting so long
and learning the reason of his doing so, said to him, You are
indeed, sir, sadly deceiving yourself; you are indulging a hope
strong enough to cheat you, but which will never reward you with
enjoyment.
The Lark Burying Her Father"

Oooohkaaay...

Sweeties in paradise!
Our friend David took this photo of us in Hawaii. It's in front of his gorgeous new house on the Big Island.

Coming soon!
Get your Christmas lists started now. Here's the hottest new thing to expect.

Joy!
Watching this made me grin like a little kid. It's so fun. I remember the press when they filmed this ad, because they actually released all those balls on the streets of SF. But it's so delightfully, simply joyful.

Red Cloud, over Chavez Ravine
I've been listening to the excellent Ry Cooder CD Chavez Ravine a lot lately, and loving it. This trip back to LA in the '50s, when a "Poor Man's Shangra-La" was demolished to make way for Dodger Stadium is full of songs that will engage you on first hearing, and that you will love upon repeated listening. I highly recommend this for the great music and the wonderful story it tells. From sweet Tex-Mex waltzes to hip 50s grooves, to bits of programming that cover everything from aliens to Commies to Dragnet, it's a solid release that will climb to the top of your favorites list. Would make a damn fine Christmas gift for the adventurous music lover in your life as well.

Art in the Tubes
At the risk of being arrested as terrorists, a group of artists have begun attaching suitcases with projectors and Mac minis to the sides of subway trains with the purpose of showing art movies on the walls of tunnels. You can see a QuickTime movie of the project here.

The Case of the Curious Cat
Friday night, fighting off a cold, I stayed home while my beloved went to a SF Jazz concert up in the City. At about 7:30, I heard a cat meowing in the front yard. Not an unusual occurance around our place, which seems to attract squads of roaming feral kitties. But the meowing kept going, and I became curious. So I turned on the porch light and opened the front door. There, at the bottom of the porch steps, was a cat with a beautiful black and grey coat and light greenish yellow eyes.

I opened the screen door, figuring out that such action would cause it to run away and meow in someone else's yard, the way it usually works, only to find the opposite effect. The cat took it as in invitation.

Without hesitation, she came up the stairs and walked right into the house. I was so stunned, I think I just stood there for a few seconds with the door open and by the time I turned to look into the living room, the cat had jumped up on the sofa and was calmly regarding me from my recently-occupied seat.

The cat, whom I christened Crasher (after "gate crasher") became my companion for the next 3 hours.

She was obviously not a stray -- not skittish at all, too clean, well fed, too accustomed to having her tummy rubbed. So was probably a neighbor's house cat that had gotten out. Not knowing what else to do, I gave it some tuna & a bowl of water, which she appreciated, and then I returned to the sofa and she settled into my lap.

She seemed very young, not long out of kitten stage, and was quite a bite-y cat. Liked to claw things too. But extremely friendkly, very curious, kinda dumb, and apparently not at all afraid of strangers, strange houses, or anything else unfamiliar.

At several points in the night I led her to the front door and opened it so she could leave, but she'd just look outside, and then turn and head for the sofa again. When my sweetie called during the intermission of the concert, he was very surprised to hear I'd been adopted for the evening. For althought we've often had as many as 5 cats in our yard at once, they've never let us get within 5 feet of them before they'd take off. None have ever shown any inclination towards being domesticated, and here was Crasher acting like The Man Who Came to Dinner.

Finally, my date came home and met the cat. And the next time I opened the front door, she left. Just like that. Without even a thank you for the tuna. I have no idea where she came from, or where she went after she left. But I must say that was one of the strangest cat encounters I've ever had.

Shining!
A hilarious example of what editing, some music, and a voiceover can do.

Hawaii is for the birds!
Sorry, no photos to share (I'm a film person, not a digital camera person). But for those who care, we had a wonderful week in Hawaii, and it was an especially good week for critter watching. Both my husband and I are huge animal lovers, so a large part of our trip was spent in birdwatching, turtle viewing, dolphin spotting, and other outdoor sports. We saw some wonderful animals, but I think my favorites of the birds were the francolins. They are partridge-like birds with large bodies and tiny heads, which makes them look very stupid. This appearance is seconded by their tendency to walk around in groups of 6 or 7 in an aimless sort of way, which is just hilarious to watch. I especially like the last guy who always has a "hey, wait for me!" moment and has to run to catch up with the rest of the crowd. They run surprisingly fast, which just makes it even funnier to watch. In fact they spend so much time walking around, I thought perhaps they couldn't fly -- or at least not very far. That myth went out the window the morning one of the local feral cats tried to pounce on one and that francolin took off like a supersonic jet.

Our morning viewing of the "francolin parade" was one of the daily highlights. My other favorite birds were the cute little Java Sparrows who took over the hotel bird feeder in bunches of dozens at a time.

One morning a pod of dolphins swam into the bay by our hotel and we spent about 30 minutes watching them do show-off acrobatics for the appreciative crowd. We also found a sheltered spot where the sea turtles go to sun themselves. Unfortunately getting there was like the Bataan death march and I ended up just this side of heat stroke from the hike. But it was worth it to see the turtles up close. They were so beautiful and peaceful that it was worth the nausea and general hideousness I felt for the rest of the afternoon. Thank heavens for large bottles of water, cold showers, and ice.

The one touristy thing we did was take a stargazing tour to the top of Mauna Kea where all the observatories are. It's 13,000 feet high, and damned cold. Thankfully they provide parkas and hot chocolate. (Go to Hawaii...wear a parka.) After watching the sun set from the summit, you come down a bit and they set up a telescope and you get to look at all sorts of cool things. The white smear of the Milky Way was clearly visible before the moon came up, and both Venus and Mars were hanging around...though avoiding each other. I'm glad I did it, but once was enough and the tour guide was truly annoying.

Other than that, we were lazy. We read a lot. We bought some great Hawaiian music. We drove to the other side of the island to see the house a friend of ours just bought (he's completely gone Hawaiian). We read some more. We had margaritas. We read. And then we read a bit.

All in all, a fine time. And no, I'm not glad to be back at work...

I'm rich!

My blog is worth $1,693.62.
How much is your blog worth?

Beaches, books, and bliss
That will be the next week. My sweetie and I are off to Hawaii. I shall read until my eyes are crossed, relax, and generally get the taste of the Silicon Valley out of my mouth. See you on the flipside!

Hilarious!
Beware, this short film will have you laughing out loud. It's a parody about how the warning levels for the Department of Homeland Security were designed. Truly funny.

Foxy art

Belgian artist Francis Alys has a short "film" demonstrating the omnipresence of surveillance cameras. His demonstration? He brought a wild fox into Britain's National Portrait Gallery and used the security cameras to film it wandering through the empty galleries. "It spent more time in the Tudor room for some reason, possibly because it's darker, but I'm not sure I could confirm if there is a specific taste for one period or another."

The fox, named Bandit, is actually quite cute and it's amusing to watch him wander around. You can view the whole film here.

Books?
Along with my rant about how you can judge a book by its cover, I should have included a plea for book suggestions. I'm open to either fiction or non-fiction (depending upon subject), but I insist that it be a "thumping good read." I'm tired of wishy-washy characters, predictable plots, and just-plain-bad writing. I want something that keeps me up too late, turning pages and frantic to find out what comes next. With a week's worth of "doing nothing" vacation coming up, I need to replenish my to be read shelf.

Any suggestions?

You Can Judge a Book By Its Cover
The old saying, "you can't judge a book by its cover," is no longer true. I'm not meaning in the figurative sense as in you can't judge people by how they look. I mean the literal definition of basing an opinion of a book on the cover of that book.

I think the saying may have been true, back when covers were all either brown, black, or red leather with words embossed on it. I mean really, how much can you tell by that? Yes, all books used to look alike, and you couldn't judge by how they looked. But boy, you sure can now.

Ever notice how many contemporary books feature variations of photographs or drawings of shoes, feet, or legs? If you haven't paid attention, do so. Next time you're in a bookstore, wander over to the "new paperback fiction" section and you'll be amazed at the foot fetish that seems to have gripped American book designers. Mind you, I blame the advent of so-called "Chick Lit," a publishing craze that needs to die, right now. All these books look, and read, exactly the same. Late 20 or early 30-something women, either never been married or freshly divorced/dumped, wants to change her life/job/city of residence so she takes up yoga/becomes an assistant to a movie star/moves to Milan and hijinks ensues....usually after several hundred changes of clothing. Yawn.

I can and I do judge these books by their covers. I do not want to read any book that features feet or legs on the cover. Nor do I want to read a book that pictures a pencil-skinny woman looking longingly through any shop window, sitting in any cafe or restaurant, or wearing a little black dress and looking in a mirror. I judge those books by their covers. In most cases the plots are as shallow, uninteresting, and preditable as the cover art.

The phrase should have died out with the invention of the "bodice ripper." If you see a cover, any cover, featuring a long-haired, bare chested man grasping a blond vixen who cannot seem to keep her clothes from falling off and you know what you're going to get inside. You don't even need to open the book to know.

Am I too judgemental? Hell yeah, and damned proud of it. Do you have any idea how much money I save by not being books about feet?

Why???
Why hire a writer when what you want is a grammarian? They don't need me, or anyone else who has a skill with words. No. All they really need is someone who can put commas in the middle of their dull marketing crap.

Why preach creativity, and then shoot down anything even remotely creative? Why bother to do anything word-based if the words involved are boring and not something anyone actually wants to read? When did "different" become "inappropriate?"

People, if you don't want me, fire me. If you're not going to use me, get rid of me. But for god's sake, don't hire me with the promise of creativity and then tie my hands behind my back because you're afraid of rocking the damned boat.

I've been looking for a new job since my second week at this one, and I can't find anything. So....anybody in the San Francisco Bay Area in need of a writer/editor? I have lots of experience, great ideas that no one seems to want, I'm a kick-ass manager (ask anyone who used to report to me), I've met every deadline that's ever been handed to me, and I'm tired of wasting my time where I am.

Darwin in action?
In a New York Times article about those in Galveston who refuse to evacuate in the face of Rita, comes some of the most freakishly sterotypical "redneck" comments ever.

One guy says he'll fend off looters with his Marine Corps knife and then states, "I'm going to go rat hunting when this is over." Apparently in the past, storm surges have forced rats out of their nests in the sea wall.

Another man tried to leave but his car broke down. He took it as a sign from God. "On Thursday, Mr. Shumake and his nephew, Russell Cavender, 17, walked along the sea wall holding an American flag and another flag saying, "We Support Our Troops." Mr. Shumake, a stout man with a bushy goatee and a ponytail, said: "The Lord doesn't want us going. He wants me carrying this flag."'

Yeah, that's right, the Lord wants you carrying that flag. Um...exactly why would the Lord want you carrying that flag? So the dozen other yahoos who aren't leaving town and feel secure in the knowledge that you support the troops? Yeah, that's God's plan all right.

A shopkeeper who is staying put had this to say about dealing with potential looters: ""I checked with the Sheriff's Department to see if I could use my gun, and they said if I do, make sure he's dead." Ohhhkay.....

I don't know whether to laugh or be very, very scared. Maybe a little of both.

Got a few hours to kill?
Exploring the New York Public Library's Digital Gallery can easily take days, and you still probably wouldn't get enough time to thoroughly examine all the wonders therein. From Illuminated manuscripts to historic photographs, from sheet music to paperback book covers, from maps and blueprints to woodcuts and drawings....the collection is vast, gorgeous, fascinating and, best of all, free for us to look at. It's great stuff, folks.

Simon Wiesenthal
One of my personal heroes has died at the age of 96. There are so few people who actually practice what they preach, and who dedicate their lives to justice, regardless of the cost. Simon Wiesenthal was one of the few. How can you not admire somone who looses over 80 family members in the Holocaust, and who himself suffered in the concentration camps, and then says "I seek justice, not revenge?" He was a man of integrity, courage, and dedication....and those are such rare qualities. What an amazing man. I wish I could be one of those few...

While I was being a lazy slug...
My wonderful husband was at the Monterey Jazz Festival last weekend. Part 1 of his review is now up on All About Jazz.

Malian blues
Check out Kongo Magni by Malian singer, songwriter, guitarist Boubacar Traore. Great stuff. He's got a passionate, lived-in, felt the pain kind of voice, perfect for the blues and he's accompanied by a small combo including accordion, harmonica, balafon, and traditional percussion. It's honest, rich, and oh, so good.

Sounds like recovery
The fine folks at CD Baby (an online store for independent musicians) have come up with a great way to support hurricane relief. Thousands (no kidding) of their artists have volunteered to donate 100% of the proceeds from the sale of their music to the Red Cross.

If you don't know CD Baby, you should. They allow independent artists to market their music and receive a fair profit from the sales. Plus those of us who like to buy music benefit from actual audio samples that last longer than a sneeze. There are some great artists there, from a variety of genres. Come on....you'll get great music, they'll get new fans, and the Red Cross gets the money it needs to help save peoples' lives. Everybody wins.

NYT Columnist Blasts Bush
Three cheers and an amen for Bob Herbert on the President's apalling callousness, cluelessness, and general incompetence in the wake of Katrina.

Not an issue of color?
Yeah, right. Perhaps the initial neglect to provide buses or other ways for the poor to get out of town was based on economic status rather than color. It just so happens that the majority of the poor in New Orleans happen to be black. But I firmly believe the lack of resources to help those stranded at the Superdome and the Convention Center was based on color. I believe that if CNN was showing footage of cute little blond children with blue eyes and curly hair, crying from hunger and fear as they waited for help, that the government would have been there within 24-hours with food, medicine, and a plan to get them to safety. If thousands of middle-class white people had been stranded without resources, I think we would have gotten help sooner.

And what's with the white vs. black photos of "looters?" If a black person steals it's looting, but if a white person steals it's "finding food for his family?"

I think the Bush administration has a hell of a lot to answer for in this case. (Whose brilliant idea was it to cut funding to FEMA so we can fight terrorists? We've had a hell of a lot more natural disasters than terror attacks since 9/11.) I think disaster relief/management in general in the US needs a major overhaul. Why wait until after the storm to tell people where to gather? Why no provision for those who lack the resources to get themselves out of town? What should have happend is announcement for everyone who wanted to evacuate to get to the Superdome, and then bus them to safety before the storm. Certainly that would have been easier, cheaper, and far less traumatic for all concerned that to just say "get out" and leave the poor to fend for themselves.

I am angry, sickened, and completely ashamed of America at this point. And all I can do is give more money. That's pretty much all you can do too. If you haven't yet opened your wallet, do so now. The Red Cross seems to be the most likely place to donate, but there are hundreds of organizations rushing to aid those who have lost everything. You know you can afford it...and you know that you can afford more than you've given already. Do it.

Give
That's all, just give. If the horrific stories out of the south don't move you to open your wallet, you have no soul. The Network for Good has a list of charities that are working to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Everything from the Red Cross and Second Harvest to Noah's Wish and the North Shore Animal League which are looking out for displaced pets and wildlife. Please help.

I Need Some Good News!
Hurricanes killing hundreds and rendering thousands homeless. Looting. Hundreds dead in riots. A war that won't end. Gas prices going even higher. Housing prices continuing to rise.

Please, I need some good news. I need something to make me laugh, or at least make me smile. Something to reaffirm my faith in mankind. Something to wipe images of destruction out of my brain.

Doesn't anybody have any good news? Please, I'm begging you here.

We're Number 12! We're Number 12!
The United States ranks 12th among the 21 richest nations in the world for foreign aid. Denmark ranks as the most generous country in the world, spending 89 cents per person, per day, in government aid and one cent per person per day in private giving. The US spends 15 cents per person per day, In a world where more than 2 billion people live on less than $2 a day, it's shameful that we continue to spend billions on a pointless war while people are starving. Come on people, get out a crowbar and open up your damned wallets.

When was the last time you wrote a check to charity? You know you can afford it. $20 buck....that's a pizza. Give $20 buck to the Red Cross, or UNICEF, or AmFAR, or some other worthy organization. But it's up to those of us who have the money to take care of those who don't.

The Importance of Hating Ernest
"Reading Hemingway in Cupertino" is not as evocative a title as “Reading Lolita in Tehran,” but it nevertheless conveys my last lunchtime window shop excursion to a bookstore.

To begin with, I must state upfront that I am not a fan of Hemingway; neither his writing nor his plots. I know, I know, I’m a Philistine. But I’m a Philistine with an open mind, at least where books are concerned. When I say “I don’t like Hemingway,” it is as a college student forced to read “For Whom the Bell Tolls” for a class taught by a teacher whose name I will never recall, in spite of the fact that I have perfect recollection of his purple cardigan sweater and eternal licorice-breath.

But I’ve aged since then, and I thought it was time I give Hemingway another try. (I am discounting the “Moveable Feast” episode where I thought it would be “artistic” to actually take with me to Paris. It wasn’t.) So off I go to a bookstore to browse through their selection. I was intrigued by “To Have and Have Not,” because I love the movie so much – but I know the book is different from the movie and I decide against it for fear it would taint a great popcorn flick. “The Old Man and the Sea” has the element of brevity going for it, but I know the plot and I have no interest in either old men or the sea. (Apologies to Melville.)

I pick up “The Sun Also Rises,” and quickly put it down again, deciding I’m not really in the mood for a book filled with unpleasant drunk people doing unpleasant things to other unpleasant drunk people.

“Hemingway on Fishing?” Shoot me now.

Ah…”The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories.” Now there’s a possibility. I love Africa. Short stories take far less commitment than a novel, and I can get more plot variety.

I’m halfway to the check-out counter before I turn around and put it back on the shelf. I had one of those pre-buy epiphanies that so often save us from bad purchases. There amid the faceouts of "Dummies" guides, I realize that it’s ok not to like Hemingway. Maybe it’s because he’s a so-called “man’s writer” and I am happily penis-free. Maybe it’s because hating his short, staccato writing style that makes every sentence sound like a cough, is a perfect reasonable assessment of his skill as a writer. Maybe because I’m not in college anymore and I don’t have to read anything that I’m not genuinely interested in. Whatever the reason, I put Ernest back and happily wander over to the History section.

The Gospel According to Marcel Marceau
Sometimes there are just no words. Check out the gospel mimes. My vote for scariest Flash intro ever -- watch it and be very afraid.

How to you spell that?
I've always rather hated my extremely common first name (Lisa). But this article/forum by the BBC on the difficulties faced by those with hard to pronounce names makes me almost glad I don't have that problem.

I'd like something unusual, but easy to say. None of these riduclous spellings (Tyffanae?) or made up names (Shaweniqua), just something where I don't know 15 people with the same name.

Bosworth Day
On this date in 1485, King Richard III of England was piteously slain at the Battle of Bosworth Field by Henry Tudor (later Henry VII). Loyaulte me lie.

Desk Set
Desk Set is a really wonderful movie. Perfect comfy, happy, "they don't make 'em like that anymore" entertainment. Spencer Tracy as a computer genius. Katharine Hepburn as a reference wizard (god I want her job!). Will the evil machine put Hepburn and her "girls" out of work? Will they fall in love?

Speaking of love, I'd love to to have her job...imagine spending all day around books, looking things up, answering questions, solving mysteries, learning new things....and getting paid for it! Heaven!

Much Ado About T.O.
If you don't follow Eagles football, you probably don't care about the ongoing soap opera involving the King of Me-Me-Land, Terrell Owens. Cranky because the Eagles refuse to renegotiate his 7-year $48 million dollar contract (which he signed last year), he's been his usual uncooperative, nasty, bitter, selfish self. Yesterday his antics got him kicked out of training camp for a week.

T.O. has complained that he has to consider his family. Um, ok. just how big is your family T.O.? And how much do these peole eat? You can't feed them on $50 million? You poor thing. Just rest now, T.O. while we have a telethon in your favor.

I hope the Eagles trade his sorry butt. The team and the city deserve better than this. And I would like nothing more than to find wonder boy out on his ass with no one to play with and no one to cheer for him.

The Evolution Revolution
So GW has spoken out on the issue of teaching evolution in schools by saying, "I felt like both sides ought to be properly taught."

Ah yes, both sides. The proven, scientific side that actually belongs in a classroom, and the theoretical, faith-based theory that has no place in a public school.

Why, oh why are we still having this debate? Why, oh why does it seem like the longer this administration is in office, the farther back in time we go. I have fears that by the time Bush is ready to pack up his Adam & Eve pop-up books and head back to Texas, we'll all be wearing white caps and muslin and the entire country will be constantly dressed for a Thanksgiving reenaction.

This is the 21st century. The fossil record is fact. It is science. It it not a theory. And yet the President and his narrow-minded cronies would like for all American children to be taught that the ridiculous, unproven, Christian-dominated theory of creationism is an idea worthy of their time. Whatever happened to the separation of church and state?

Hot weather music
For me, when the temperature rises, the music must keep pace. In the summertime, I can't get enough of high-energy, make you sweaty, get off your ass and dance music. Here are a few of my favorites for Summer, 2005.

North African Groove. Yet another delicious Putumayo compilation. Sexy Arabic beats, great vocals, serious fun. Yum with a capital, yow!

Tekitoi by Rachid Taha. Buy this one, trust me. The title track, plus that deliciously ironic, iconic cover of Rock the Casbah are two of the most infecious, exciting world tracks of 2005. This one rocks!

Son: Soul of a Nation by Sierra Maestra. Not as hot and upbeat as the previous two, this release is a sultry trip into the history of Cuban son music. Slow & sexy, romantic as a kiss at midnight, this one is just too delicious for words.

Come on folks, break out of your rut. Try any of these, and I guarantee you'll have fun.

The Return of the Stanford
My beloved Stanford Theatre is finally, finally, oh frabjous day, open!

It's been closed for renovations for far too long, and I was going into serious withdrawal. For those of you in the San Francisco Bay Area, I urge you to visit the Stanford. It's a classic movie house from the days when movie houses featured gold leaf and velvet curtains. You will always see two (yes, two!) wonderful old movies (with an organist between the shows), plus you can munch on the best movie popcorn in the Bay Area. This weekend, one of my all-time favorite movies The Philadelphia Story plus the classic mysery, Laura. Do go, it's a wonderful date spot.

You could go a long way in Poland without seeing anything pretty...
So says the hatefully odd Mrs. Mortimer in The Clumsiest People in Europe: Or, Mrs. Mortimer's Bad Tempered Guide to the Victorian World. Mrs. Mortimer was a humorless, xenophobic childrens' author in England in the 1850s who wrote three guides to the world. The only problem was, she'd never seen the world. All she'd seen that wasn't England was Brussels, Paris, and Edinburgh. Still, she manages to find something insulting to say about nearly every county and every race of people on the planet. Her books have recently been rereleased and are apallingly hilarious. Comments such as "the Swedes do nothing well," and "Spain is full of murderers" will have you howling in amazement.

Good with kids
Why is the phrase "good with kids" a legitimate description of someone but "good with adults" isn't? It's odd, because it lumps all kids in together as being alike. Even someone like me, who is most decidedly not good with kids, knows that kids are different. As different as adults. I am good with some adults. I've even been known to be good with a few, select kids. Other adults, I am not so good with. And I think I prefer it that way. Only someone like Mother Teresa can be "good with everyone."

It just seems like an odd phrase. "Good with kids." What does that mean, anyway?

The really strange thing is how many parents seem to be "bad with kids." Honestly, I don't believe people even think about having children before they start reproducing. On the whole, more thought seems to go into what breed of dog to get, or what kind of car to buy than goes into the issue of kids. They have children because that's what you do. You get married. You have kids. That's it. Which is sad, really, because I think at least 50% of parent would probably say "no" if they honestly asked themselves "do I really want to have children?"

I know that I don't. I have always known that I don't. I have no maternal instincts whatsoever and I'm way too selfish to be a good mom. I like being impulsive. And I'm so full of self-doubt that I know I wouldn't be able to raise the kind of fearless, confident child that I'd want to raise. No, I like that it's just me and my sweetie.

But then again, I'm not "good with kids."

A change of view
We're getting new windows at our house tomorrow. Our landlady has decided to replace the two big windows in the living room, and the one in the office. Lovely, but a heck of a lot of work to clear out space. The window guys need 3-4 feet of clear space inside the house to work. Given that our house ins't that large, finding places to move a sofa, a large work table, a desk, etc., isn't easy. But we did it.

Now it looks so strange.

I'm sitting in a chair that usually faces the fireplace. Now it's where our sofa usually lives. The view is familar, but not. The ancient and falling-apart bookcase is gone, so there's a wasteland of more-or-less sand-colored carpet between me and the window. As is always the case when you move things about, the room looks so much bigger. This space that always seems packed when I try to fit 9 people in here for our monthly bookgroup, now appears to be big enough to give waltz lessons. It's all so vast and open. In a way it makes me wish it was always like this...that we could keep the sofa up against the bookcases and just have this open space.

What is it about looking at familiar things from a different angle that always causes such a reaction? My house feels as cozy and familiar as always, but it's different. There's an airiness about the open space that provides an almost Zen-like sense of peace. Is it the simplicity? Am I subconsciously being stressed by my row of cactus plants? Do the tables that usually flank the sofa make me feel trapped somehow?

Oh well, I'm not going to analyze it (in spite of the fact that I apparently already am analyzing it), I'm just going to enjoy the novelty and look forward to having my house back in order tomorrow.

The Legend of "Cheap and Surly"
There's an Indian resturant nearby that my dear friend, Naveena, introduced me to. In spite of the numerous times I've been there I cannot, for the life of me, tell you the real name of this place. Since my first visit I have always referred to it as "Cheap and Surly."

To begin with, let me tell you that yes, the food is very good. And yes, it is inexpensive. But the one and only waitress that we've ever seen there is the most unwelcoming, inattentive, careless waitress in the history of served food. No, really, she is.

She never says hello. Never welcomes you. Barely looks at you. You come in, the place is always empty, and you seat yourself (because she shows no sign of pointing you to a table). Eventually, she'll put menus on your table. Eventually, you order. Eventually, food comes. Eventually, she'll bring you a plate, a napkin, and maybe a spoon, maybe a spoon and a fork (score!).

Today I took my husband there for lunch, as he'd been hearing about C & S ever since my first visit. I lived up to its reputation, as far as he's concerned.

The world's most unwelcoming waitress (WMUW, for short) did all of the above. When time came for cutlery, it arrived in a pile, sort of thrown on the table after our food had arrived. It was up to us to sort it out. A few minutes later, after I'd already used my spoon to take a helping of one of the dishes, she shows up again and thrusts a serving spoon into the bowl -- like she was poking a turkey to see if it was done.

Mind you, the place was empty. WMUW was most emphatically not being run off her feet. We were the only table. There were two men who were leaving as we came in, and their table remained un-bused the entire time we were there.

One other guy came in and asked about an order to go. When told it would take 30 minutes he agreed and then almost immediately changed his mind....too late...WMUW had already disappeared into the dark recesses of the apparently soundproof kitchen. After about 6 or 7 tries of "Miss?" "Miss?" WMUW finally moseyed on out to the counter where the poor guy cancelled his order.

Mind you, all this with a Bollywood soundtrack CD blaring from the speakers. Music which she immediately switched off (not turned down, which would allow your customers to still enjoy the cool music, but turned off) when the phone rang so that she could then shout into the phone for several minutes. So much for a nice ambience. More chicken tikka, dear?

One of the more endearing features of C & S is the complete absence of a check. In all the many times I've got there, WMUW has never once actually brought a check to the table. When you're done, you walk over to the counter and ring the bell, hoping that luck is with you and the tiny ding will penetrate into the soundproof kitchen (where the big ding likes to hide in-between snarls). Of course, I should count my blessings. The bell is a relatively new addition...you used to have to stand there and just shout towards the kitchen.

Today it only took two rings before WMUW roused herself from her overworked stupor and condescended to take our money. "Good thing we're honest," my husband said, as we could easily have walked out without paying while WMUW was hidden behind the curtain of safety in the kitchen area....away from us nasty customers.

We speculated that she got roped into this against her will. That she had no desire to open a resturant but her father or husband or someone bought it and her form of protest is to make the dining experience so completely miserable that there will be no repeat customers. Unfortunately for her, the food is really good. And as long as I always go in expecting to be ignored and treated with a complete lack of hospitality, I guess I'm OK with that.

It came from Sweden!!!!
Yesterday I had one of the more frightening experiences of my life.

I went to Ikea.

If you've never been, don't go. It's terrifying. First of all, the one that I visited (in East Palo Alto, California), has a garage that makes airport parking garages seem tiny by comparison. Of course the 20-foot high concrete walls don't exactly inspire a sense of cozy - but it's vast. Immense. So big that in spite of the fact that the store was packed, the garage looks empty.

Then you enter the store (if you can figure out where the entrance is, of course). Then the "fake museum experience" truly begins. Pick up a map. Follow the arrows on the floor. Want something from the first floor? Sorry, you have to go through the "hall of soulless rooms" upstairs before you can come back down and visit the "emporium of Nordic wonders." So up we go.

Screaming kids. Smug yuppies who actually want a "house in box" because it saves them from having to be creative. Entire families sprawled in stupification on anti-grammatical furniture. Then the fake "happy home" dioramas of perfect kitchens and cold bedrooms. All with odd Swedish touches like copies of Dashiell Hammett's "The Glass Key," in Swedish on their light ash bookshelves.

Now don't get me wrong. If you're just starting out and can't afford much, the prospect of getting a table for $50 or a $75 bed is nice. But why would you want an entire house, let along an entire room, that looks just like someone else's house or room?

The truly ironic thing is that we never did find what we went there for. We did, however, pick up an office chair, which we'd needed for a while. And I bought two heavy cardboard storage boxes, shoe-box size, for photos and such. Then we get home.

The chair requires no tools or hardware whatsoever. My husband put it together, by himself, in under 5 minutes. The little boxes? They're held together with screws. Of course. I needed a screwdriver and a crescent wrench. I also needed three hands. It took both of us somewhere around 10 minutes to put together the two boxes.

I came away with a new appreciation for antiques, a headache, and a firm determination to never set foot in another Ikea. Ever.

I wonder if there will be an entire generation of Swedish children traumatized by the fact that their names have been assigned to cheap, mass-produced furniture? And is there a heirarchy to it all? Will the other kids pick on you if you're named after a footstool, but not if you've got the name of an entire dining room suite?

Freaky.

How to get rich
Sometimes I'm so brilliant, that I need special glasses just to look at myself in the mirror.

So, one of the secrets to becoming rich is to exploit a need or, in this society, a desire. Figure out what people want, or at least what they'll spend lots of money on, and produce it.

In thinking about a) what everyone wants; and b) what people will spend lots of money on, I've hit on The Perfect Idea™. Are you ready...?

An iPod with the picture of the Virgin Mary™. Yes, that's right. Combine the hottest, must-have product since indoor plumbing with people's twisted sense of religion and I'll make a million.

It's my idea folks, no fair stealing!

No wonder I'm depressed!
This just in: Home prices in the bay area are STILL rising! Good Lord! The median price, according to a story in today's SF Chronicle is now $600,000 "or more than $8,200 per month!" Merde, merde, merde. Everyone, please go back where you came from.

You know what really pisses me off? I don't want to buy real estate "as an investment." I'm not trying to get rich. I just want a home of my own. That's it. Nothing fancy, I don't need much. Just a cozy little place where my husband and I can live as we want, paint the walls any color we want, get a couple of dumb dogs, and live happily ever after. Is that too much to ask???

Musical Vacations
It's hot, it's summer, and I'm not on vacation. Worse, I have no vacation planned. Being in a blue funk, I went to a bookstore at lunchtime and acquired some new music and a book or two. (What is it about spending money that makes people feel better?) Anyway, I'm on a "musical vacation," thanks to The Rough Guide to the Music of Hawaii. Lots of slack-key laziness helping me get through the day.

So. When you desperately need a vacation, and you can't take one, what do you do? All advice gratefully accepted.

End of an era. Well....end of a novela
After months of dedicated viewing, and much frantic page-turning in our Spanish-English dictionary, the Telemundo novela to which we were addicted ended last night. Yes, the show we affectionaly called "Glitter and Gopher," is no more.

La Mujer en el Espejo was the twisted tale of a plain girl, her glittery alter-ego, an uber villian, a hero with frosted hair, and various residents of La Concordia, a barrio in "NeverNever land" (actually, Bogata, Colombia). After spending so much time with these people, I feel like I know them. I'm really going to miss Paco and his dance studio, "Thag the dance boy" who apparently owned no shirts that had sleeves. Luzmila the clueless and Charlie with his pointy hair. I'll miss "Ralph Lauren," and his one-handed push-ups, Alberto who had his apartment decorated with photos of himself and, especially "Guapo Cop-o" who was just plain yummy.

Well, it was fun while it lasted. And for those who missed that last, final, thrill-packed episode of "G & G" let me just say that Romero poisoned Babsyque and himself, Juliana & Marcos finally got married, Juan Tobias hit on Ginger (!?!? Eww!!!), and Luzmilla still has no stroller for that damned baby.

Thanks everyone, it was fun.

Why bother?
Why bother buying a convertible if you're not going to put the top down? I mean just how perfect must a day be before you decide it's nice enough to drive around in the sunshine? It's gorgeous out there. Mid to high 80s, blue sky, a perfect, perfect, summer day. And yet I counted no fewer than 7 convertibles driving down with the top up. I mean why bother? If you're not going to take advantage of your car, give it to me, dammit!

Big ol' "awww...."
Some animals are just so cute I can hardly stand it. Case in point: Red Pandas. If you don't think they're completely adorable, you have no heart.

In other news, the surviving kitten I wrote about a few weeks ago is still thriving, thank you. It's taken to pouncing on mama cat, and not doing a very good job of being stealthy. It's still danged cute, and we still worry about it. Mama and kitten seem to have taken up permanent residence in our backyard. When we looked out at about midnight a few nights ago, we could see the white patch of the kitten sleeping in the darkness. Well, as long as it's there it's not out playing in the street, I guess.

If you haven't already followed my sage advice, buy "Up & Down" by the Palm Wine Boys. You'll thank me for it.

Music. Fun. Yes.
Last night, for some reason, I had more fun doing my show than usual. And I played some damned fine music, if I do say so myself. (Don't believe me? check it out for yourself!)

Perhaps it was our recent trip to Portland and the associative terror of possible leaving the Bay Area that made me appreciate this slice of home more than usual. Whatever the reason, I had a lovely time. I love being on the air, and I'm so very thankful for KZSU.

Just keep your f-ing loompas away from me!!!
OK, let me be upfront about this. Oompa Loompas terrify me. These freaks from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to give the book its due), are just about the scariest things ever. All that orange and green. And those pants that stick out. And their scary-ass song.

So this movie really needed to be remade? Why? In the name of all that's unholy, why???

Why inflict upon us Johnny Depp doing Michael Jackson and yet another terrifying depiction of what someone's nightmare Loompas look like?

No good can come of this.

What makes home?

Not a home. Just home. Home is, famously, where the heart is. But it's also where your stuff is. Is home a place, a building, or just a state of mind? And how does one decide.

As we travel to Portland this weekend to consider it as "home," I find myself thinking about my home here. Not the house, although I love that old place. But it's not mine. No, I think of home as where the people I love are. Where I know the best places to get pot stickers and used CDs. Where I know the backroads in case of traffic, where I have my favorite radio stations, where I have a doctor I trust, a dentist I like, and a favorite place to walk.

In order to be home, does home need all these things? If we left here, we'd have a house -- the one thing I've always, always wanted and the one thing that always, always seems impossible here. But would I have home? Is being able to paint walls, plant flowers and say "ours," worth not having anyone to invite to the housewarming party?

I don't want to go. But if I don't, I'm admitting to "never" in terms of a house. It seems ironic that poor people can, with help from the wonderful folks at Habitat for Humanity, achieve what I cannot do -- in spite of being gainfully employed at a salary that is overpaid compared to the rest of the world.

I feel like I'm in a no-win situation. If I stay I get to keep seeing the people I love, but I never get a house of my own. If I leave, I get the house, but I have to leave home. And yes, it's possible to make a new home, people do it all the time. But is it worth it?

Please do yourself a favor...
And buy Up & Down by The Palm Wine Boys. It's my new favorite CD. They're a local band, and their music is sweet, joyful, fun, light, playful, and perfect for summer. I really love this and I think you will too.

Guilty pleasures
On this quarter's application for a show on KZSU the random question was "what's your guilty pleasure?'

I don't know about you, but it's hard to name only one. I mentioned three. The first was La Mujer en el Espejo on the Telemundo network. It's a cheesy Spanish-language soap opera that I can't understand (not speaking Spanish being a great hindrance in this case), but to which I and my husband are completely addicted. The discussion board for this show is a riot, and includes comments from some very funny, very smart people.

My other guilty pleasure....Oreos. No explanation needed.

Musically my guilty pleasure is Garth Brooks. OK, he's a mega star and nothing to be ashamed of. But hey, when you're a world music DJ and you're surrounded by people to live and breathe music, admitting to liking Garth Brooks is like admitting to liking Fear Factor. (Please, no irate mail from Fear Factor addicts.

But my list of guilty pleasures is really huge. Captain Crunch cereal, cozy British mysteries I've seen dozens of times, ice cream, naps, popcorn, mummy movies, reruns of I Love Lucy, Jeopardy, trashy books, sometimes reading only the comics in the morning paper, country music, watching documentaries about cute animals...

So, what are your guilty pleasures?

What's in a noun?
The National Commission on Writing (why is there a National Commission on Writing?) has issued a report stating that poor writing skills costs Americans millions of dollars a year. To which, as a writer, I can only say, "duh."

Why is it that everyone thinks they can write? Nobody assumes that they can sit down at a piano and, without any training, practice, or experience, bang out a piece of Chopin. And yet put people at a computer, tell them to write, and everyone thinks they're Hemingway. Guess what folks? It doesn't work like that.

Writing is a skill and, sometimes, an art. And like all skills it must be learned and you must practice to keep your fluency. It's not enough to learn in 3rd grade what a verb is and where it goes. You have to learn how to string words and phrases together in a way that makes sense and is something people want to read.

Somewhere along the way, I completely lost my fluency. I used to write every single day, and I was good at it. Now I rarely write and I'm as rusty as the Tin Man. I mourn the loss of my words, but at least I'm not deluding myself that can still write. Oh sure, I can be coherent, but that's not enough. At least not for me.

I've been looking for a new job for a few months now, and not finding anything. Very few people want to hire writers (even rusty ones), because they assume anyone can string those words togather. And yet these companies would never assume that their receptionist could do some programming for them just because she uses a computer.

People, stop assuming and start recognizing that a good writer is not a luxury, it's a neccessity. Then hire me, dammit.

On wild cats and other peeves
I love animals. Pretty much all animals with the exception of ants and cockroaches. So it always bothers me when I spot yet another wild cat in our yard.

For years now the backyard has become a home away from home for the literally dozens of homeless cats in the area. We think it's the house two doors down that feeds them, and so they stick around the area. The problem is, none of them are fixed and every year our yard gets turned into a kitty nursery.

A few weeks ago, we spotted mama cat with two completely adorable kittens. One a little plaid one with a white face and a curious nature. The other, mostly gray with white feet. He was very small, and beyond adorable. Since my husband is also an animal lover, we went into our yearly worry over unsupervised kittens running free on a high-traffic street.

The day after we both pretty much fell in love with the little gray one, we were awakened at 5 am by angry, unpleasant noises in the backyard. My husband went out to investigate and scared off a rather large racoon. But it was too late. There, curled up next to our back fence was the little gray kitten. He was dead.

Having to wrap up and dispose of an adorable, newly-killed kitten at 5 am is not the way anyone should start the day.

Mama cat and the other kitten have staked out our yard as their private space and spend most days, all day, lying in the sun and chasing leaves. The kitten is growing, and having a lovely time curling up under a rose bush and generally being a cat. But whenever I think of his cute sibling, I just want to cry.

I know people think that feeding feral cats is a good thing. And I certainly don't want them to starve. But if you do that, could you also please try to catch them and get them fixed so that they don't keep breeding more generations of cats. We remember mama cat from when she was a kitten in our yard a few years ago. And last year we had to dispose of a cat that had been run over in front of our house.

We don't want to deal with your dead cats. It's upsetting and inconsiderate. Please, if you love animals enough to feed them, then love them enough to try and prevent this from happening. The local SPCA has lots of suggestions for trapping wild cats. They'll even rent you the traps and provide discount spay and neuter services. Please?

Blech
So I've been sick. Not deathly ill sick. But sick enough that going to the emergency room kept being tossed around as a suggestion. (Hey, you try not eating for 3 days.) Thankfully I'm better due to time and a wonderful doctor. (I love my doctor.)

But now that I'm back to semi-normal, I find myself thinking that you know your job sucks when being home throwing up every 30 minutes is less stressful than actually being in the office.

Lost and found
So they found that missing kid in Utah. OK. Good. Glad he's alive and unhurt.

But it turns out that having been told not to "talk to strangers," he was actually avoiding the people who were searching for him. He'd hear a horse, or a hiker or something and get off the trail and hide. Um...is it just me, or is that just dumb? OK, he's only 11. And yes, it's a scary, sadly unsafe world. But hell, he had to know he was lost and in trouble and it didn't occur to him to ask for help? Just a "hey, I'm over here," and he'd have been back eating ice cream a few days ago. Instead his family is terrified and hundreds of people are inconveinenced (not to mention the cost!) all because Bucky was too stupid to use a little common sense and realize that extraordinary circumstances call for breaking the rules.

I know, I'm harsh. Deal with it.

Lollipots!
Just what we need. Marijuana-flavored lollipops. Who decided this was a good idea? They're made with hemp oil, so they have the taste but not the effects of the real thing. OK, a) lousy idea to sell to children; and b) why in the world is medical marijuana still illegal?