From our front yard. One of the few things I photographed today that wasn't a cat.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Photo of the day: Attack of the New Zealanders
In trying out my wonderful new zoom lens the other day I caught several planes coming in for a landing at SFO. I was really impressed with the "image stabilizer" feature of the lens, which lets me capture moving targets with a sweet clarity. While this is one of the dullest photographs ever, I'm posting it because I'm pleased with how close this lens gets me. This weekend, I must go on a safari. (After I review at least two CDs for the station, clean the bathroom, do the laundry, go grocery shopping....oh fuck, I'm boring myself.)
In trying out my wonderful new zoom lens the other day I caught several planes coming in for a landing at SFO. I was really impressed with the "image stabilizer" feature of the lens, which lets me capture moving targets with a sweet clarity. While this is one of the dullest photographs ever, I'm posting it because I'm pleased with how close this lens gets me. This weekend, I must go on a safari. (After I review at least two CDs for the station, clean the bathroom, do the laundry, go grocery shopping....oh fuck, I'm boring myself.)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Cat Burglar
A few minutes ago there was an attempted break in at our house.
I heard the sound of clawing at the screen door into the backyard and went to investigate. With a flashlight I found the culprit, sitting on the top step, trying to get in. It was one of the brown tabbies, caught red-pawed. He didn't run away and, in fact, when I crouched down to his eye level he just stared at me with this "well, are you going to open the door or not?" look. I talked to him through the door and did my best to discourage him from this life of crime. I'm sure he had the usual sob story. Mother with loose morals. Absentee father. Running with a tough crowd. But his response to my attempt to set him on the straight and narrow was to renew his efforts to claw his way through the screen. So I opened the back door and he made tracks so fast I didn't even see him leave. (Hmmm...maybe he was a ghost cat.)
It's a very windy night here and, as I discovered when I opened the door, quite cold for June. I don't know what he was doing because he obviously didn't want to come in (not that I would have let him, anyway). But it was a very odd few moments with me staring at our intruder through the screen door. Perhaps if I work with a sketch artist we can catch him. I know he had green eyes and pointed ears. I'm sure we'll see his photo soon, in the post office.
A few minutes ago there was an attempted break in at our house.
I heard the sound of clawing at the screen door into the backyard and went to investigate. With a flashlight I found the culprit, sitting on the top step, trying to get in. It was one of the brown tabbies, caught red-pawed. He didn't run away and, in fact, when I crouched down to his eye level he just stared at me with this "well, are you going to open the door or not?" look. I talked to him through the door and did my best to discourage him from this life of crime. I'm sure he had the usual sob story. Mother with loose morals. Absentee father. Running with a tough crowd. But his response to my attempt to set him on the straight and narrow was to renew his efforts to claw his way through the screen. So I opened the back door and he made tracks so fast I didn't even see him leave. (Hmmm...maybe he was a ghost cat.)
It's a very windy night here and, as I discovered when I opened the door, quite cold for June. I don't know what he was doing because he obviously didn't want to come in (not that I would have let him, anyway). But it was a very odd few moments with me staring at our intruder through the screen door. Perhaps if I work with a sketch artist we can catch him. I know he had green eyes and pointed ears. I'm sure we'll see his photo soon, in the post office.
Pick Your Battles
The fine freaks at PETA are shooting themselves in their natural-fiber clad foot again by taking president Obama to task for swatting a fly. Yeah, way to pick your battles there, naked people. It's not like you need him on your side for important legislature regarding endangered species, lobbying for an end to whale killing, seal clubbing, and wolves being shot from helicopters. No you go right ahead and piss him off from the start about a fucking fly. You know, the kind that you kill by the dozens driving your eco-friendly car through a summer evening gnat storm. So what's the procedure? You've got naked supermodels painted with cuts of beef on their bodies and they're going to lay down in front of the NY Stock Exchange to protest the fact that McDonalds makes more money that the cereal company "Grist Mill". But as you turn the corner...oh no! A bug has just kamakazeed itself against your winshield. So, do you cite yourself for cruelty? Does one of the models have to cut off a limb in atonement, you know, to balance our karma with natureworldgoddess?
You come home from a hard day of standing in a bikini and a stuffed harp seal to find your apartment has been infested with cockroaches. Of course you don't reach for the RAID. You reprimand them for not asking permission to eat all your arugula nut balls and suggest they might be happier outside. You will leave the windows open for them to leave and they repay your kindness by inviting in all their rat friends. Eventually you will have to accept such coexistence is not working as you've now got a rat bite right next to your Brazilian wax. I suppose you can buy them all bus tickets to a nice farm upstate where there will be toys and other rats and roaches to play with and lots of land to roam. Or you can stop being a total shitfuck and kill the damned things.
Now anyone who knows me knows that I love animals. I support WWF, Defenders of WIldlife, local rescue centers, international organizations devoted to the ecology and vanishing species. But I eat meat, because it's tasty. I don't wear fur, because that's just dumb. But I do not put a high value on the life of a fly. It comes onto my turf, it's mine. And since I don't think they're in danger of extinction, I feel safe in knocking one silly with a rolled up National Geographic. So why in the name of all that has a brain, doest PETA insist on doing galactically stupid things like alienating the President over a fly. Do they really think the next time "a hey your fishing nets are killing turtles" debate crops up and they arrive naked, (Why do they always have to be naked?) but for turtle suits, that Washington will say "Oh yes, we must listen to them for they have changed the world view on killing flies." You see, people kill the fly because it's an annoying buzz. PETA is its own annoying buzz. They need to graduate up to something that more of a voice and less of a "hey, we interrupted our AP English class discussion of Animal Farm by running naked into the classroom with signs that read "Meat is Fear" so that should also work with the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.
PETA, behave yourselves! If you want animal rights, stop pissing off the ones that can help you get those rights. Stop the grandstading we-were-on-Entertainment Tonight tactics that just make you look like a bunch of illogical lunatics. If you want to make a change, then work toward it, don't just throw temper tantrums. Meet with Obama and say here's what we want. Ask for protection for the arctic wilderness and the Amazon rainforest. Tell him we need stricter codes on puppy and kitten mills. We need more funding for shelters to care for the animals that fill organizations all over the country. We need strong spay and neutering programs for cats and dog. Stop worrying about flies and try moving up the food chain a bit. Because I have a sneaking feeling that approaching reasonable individuals as reasonable individuals and not some hemp-clad shock mob you'll find them more willing to talk to you. And you'll get a hell of a lot more support if you talk dogs, cats, wolves, turtles, whales, that kind of thing than if you insist on demonstrating humane lice traps and kind ways to convince fleas to flee.
The fine freaks at PETA are shooting themselves in their natural-fiber clad foot again by taking president Obama to task for swatting a fly. Yeah, way to pick your battles there, naked people. It's not like you need him on your side for important legislature regarding endangered species, lobbying for an end to whale killing, seal clubbing, and wolves being shot from helicopters. No you go right ahead and piss him off from the start about a fucking fly. You know, the kind that you kill by the dozens driving your eco-friendly car through a summer evening gnat storm. So what's the procedure? You've got naked supermodels painted with cuts of beef on their bodies and they're going to lay down in front of the NY Stock Exchange to protest the fact that McDonalds makes more money that the cereal company "Grist Mill". But as you turn the corner...oh no! A bug has just kamakazeed itself against your winshield. So, do you cite yourself for cruelty? Does one of the models have to cut off a limb in atonement, you know, to balance our karma with natureworldgoddess?
You come home from a hard day of standing in a bikini and a stuffed harp seal to find your apartment has been infested with cockroaches. Of course you don't reach for the RAID. You reprimand them for not asking permission to eat all your arugula nut balls and suggest they might be happier outside. You will leave the windows open for them to leave and they repay your kindness by inviting in all their rat friends. Eventually you will have to accept such coexistence is not working as you've now got a rat bite right next to your Brazilian wax. I suppose you can buy them all bus tickets to a nice farm upstate where there will be toys and other rats and roaches to play with and lots of land to roam. Or you can stop being a total shitfuck and kill the damned things.
Now anyone who knows me knows that I love animals. I support WWF, Defenders of WIldlife, local rescue centers, international organizations devoted to the ecology and vanishing species. But I eat meat, because it's tasty. I don't wear fur, because that's just dumb. But I do not put a high value on the life of a fly. It comes onto my turf, it's mine. And since I don't think they're in danger of extinction, I feel safe in knocking one silly with a rolled up National Geographic. So why in the name of all that has a brain, doest PETA insist on doing galactically stupid things like alienating the President over a fly. Do they really think the next time "a hey your fishing nets are killing turtles" debate crops up and they arrive naked, (Why do they always have to be naked?) but for turtle suits, that Washington will say "Oh yes, we must listen to them for they have changed the world view on killing flies." You see, people kill the fly because it's an annoying buzz. PETA is its own annoying buzz. They need to graduate up to something that more of a voice and less of a "hey, we interrupted our AP English class discussion of Animal Farm by running naked into the classroom with signs that read "Meat is Fear" so that should also work with the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.
PETA, behave yourselves! If you want animal rights, stop pissing off the ones that can help you get those rights. Stop the grandstading we-were-on-Entertainment Tonight tactics that just make you look like a bunch of illogical lunatics. If you want to make a change, then work toward it, don't just throw temper tantrums. Meet with Obama and say here's what we want. Ask for protection for the arctic wilderness and the Amazon rainforest. Tell him we need stricter codes on puppy and kitten mills. We need more funding for shelters to care for the animals that fill organizations all over the country. We need strong spay and neutering programs for cats and dog. Stop worrying about flies and try moving up the food chain a bit. Because I have a sneaking feeling that approaching reasonable individuals as reasonable individuals and not some hemp-clad shock mob you'll find them more willing to talk to you. And you'll get a hell of a lot more support if you talk dogs, cats, wolves, turtles, whales, that kind of thing than if you insist on demonstrating humane lice traps and kind ways to convince fleas to flee.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Power of Song
I have just watched the PBS target="new">Great Performances production of Chess in Concert, a version of the hip 1980's musical that spawned the classic "One Night in Bangkok."
I am not a musical theatre fan, but I must confess that I love Chess. I played the original recording so much that I can still sing almost all of the songs by heart. This version was a bit disconcerting because they changed the lyrics, gave songs to characters that weren't in that number in the cast recording, and added some music I don't ever recall hearing. I even saw the musical in London in the 80s and remember loving it.
This version stars PBS's own velvet-voiced fair haired favorite, Josh Groban. He's one of those performers where I love his voice. (No, really I do.) But don't like any of his recordings. I think he has a gorgeous instrument but his over-the-top smarmy love songs just make me want to puke. So it was interesting to hear him sing songs that I like and, I have to confess, I thought he did a great job. In fact I liked pretty much all of the male cast, but was less enthusiastic about the females. (Idina Menzel, while no doubt having a lovely voice, is no Elaine Paige.)
But then Groban got to "Anthem," the show-stopping love song to a homeland that ends the first act. And that's where the melancholy kicked in. You see, my late, lamented friend Stephen Frugoli used to sing this song. It was a favorite audition number of his, a signature tune when he'd perform cabaret while touring with Les Miserables and the song he sang at the pre-wedding cabaret for some dear friends. I swear I can still picture him getting up on that stage. A bit frail as he'd been fighting pneumonia and overwhelmed by the clothing that was too large for his too-rapidly-shrinking frame. And then he belted out "Anthem" and I swear everyone in the room got tears in their eyes. Perhaps I'm romanticizing the moment, but I don't think I am. Even though he voice was obviously not at its best, he still managed to make the crowd erupt. It was one of my all-time sweetest, most favorite memories of him and so I cannot hear this song without thinking of him.
In many ways I think Stephen did it much better than Groban. Stephen's voice was a bit deeper and he managed to bring a sort of melancholy passion to that song that made it soar. Groban did an outstanding job and is no doubt a better singer. But Josh Groban never brought me breakfast in bed or helped me paint my bedroom. And while I miss Stephen and his partner (my best friend and brother, Steve Sutherland) every day of my life, it was sweet to be reminded of that one night when we were all together, happy, celebrating, and alive and Stephen made the room fall in love with him.
I have just watched the PBS target="new">Great Performances production of Chess in Concert, a version of the hip 1980's musical that spawned the classic "One Night in Bangkok."
I am not a musical theatre fan, but I must confess that I love Chess. I played the original recording so much that I can still sing almost all of the songs by heart. This version was a bit disconcerting because they changed the lyrics, gave songs to characters that weren't in that number in the cast recording, and added some music I don't ever recall hearing. I even saw the musical in London in the 80s and remember loving it.
This version stars PBS's own velvet-voiced fair haired favorite, Josh Groban. He's one of those performers where I love his voice. (No, really I do.) But don't like any of his recordings. I think he has a gorgeous instrument but his over-the-top smarmy love songs just make me want to puke. So it was interesting to hear him sing songs that I like and, I have to confess, I thought he did a great job. In fact I liked pretty much all of the male cast, but was less enthusiastic about the females. (Idina Menzel, while no doubt having a lovely voice, is no Elaine Paige.)
But then Groban got to "Anthem," the show-stopping love song to a homeland that ends the first act. And that's where the melancholy kicked in. You see, my late, lamented friend Stephen Frugoli used to sing this song. It was a favorite audition number of his, a signature tune when he'd perform cabaret while touring with Les Miserables and the song he sang at the pre-wedding cabaret for some dear friends. I swear I can still picture him getting up on that stage. A bit frail as he'd been fighting pneumonia and overwhelmed by the clothing that was too large for his too-rapidly-shrinking frame. And then he belted out "Anthem" and I swear everyone in the room got tears in their eyes. Perhaps I'm romanticizing the moment, but I don't think I am. Even though he voice was obviously not at its best, he still managed to make the crowd erupt. It was one of my all-time sweetest, most favorite memories of him and so I cannot hear this song without thinking of him.
In many ways I think Stephen did it much better than Groban. Stephen's voice was a bit deeper and he managed to bring a sort of melancholy passion to that song that made it soar. Groban did an outstanding job and is no doubt a better singer. But Josh Groban never brought me breakfast in bed or helped me paint my bedroom. And while I miss Stephen and his partner (my best friend and brother, Steve Sutherland) every day of my life, it was sweet to be reminded of that one night when we were all together, happy, celebrating, and alive and Stephen made the room fall in love with him.
Remember me?
I got my hair cut today and ended up sitting next to a woman I went to high school with. She recognized me, which I can't figure out is a good thing or a bad thing. Her I wouldn't have known. Mostly because I had to wrack my brain just to recall that I had known her. Her name was familiar, but that was pretty much all.
She seems like a very sweet, very nice woman. But I was amazed at how many people from high school she was still friends with. I kept in touch with exactly two people from high school. One died of AIDS and the other lives in Saudi Arabia. So high school reunions are not exactly big on my to-do list. But this woman chatted about our upcoming reunion (to which I wouldn't go if I was forced to at gunpoint) and caught me up on a litany of people whose faces I couldn't recall and whose names were only a vague recollection. She knew that Mary Jones is a teacher and Ann Brown is a nurse. Bob Smith died in a jet ski accident, which I'm sure is a tragedy but I'm pretty sure I never knew a Bob Smith. Dave Shmultski has three kids and is an architect in Phoenix and Susan Flugelhoffer is a dentist and is working on her third marriage.
It was really weird sitting there talking to a stranger about unknown people while gunk on my head turned my hair from gray to brown and people around us were discussing summer vacations and home repairs. She knew so much about so many people that I have forgotten that it surprised me.
I don't have any friends that go back that far. For me my oldest friendships stem from the mid-80's. Everyone before that has either died or we just fell out of touch. My best friend for most of high school moved to Columbus, Ohio and basically disappeared. My friend Maria is really just a Christmas card pal as she and her husband and kids have made a life out of living all over the world (Japan, Peru, Turkey, Malaysia, and now, Saudi Arabia) and I haven't actually seen her in over a decade. So the concept of this woman having been friends for 40 years with someone we both graduated with is astounding. (No, I haven't been out of high school 40 years -- they met in grade school.) But it was a nice slice of small town life to run into someone from the past and both flattering and baffling that she remembered me.
I got my hair cut today and ended up sitting next to a woman I went to high school with. She recognized me, which I can't figure out is a good thing or a bad thing. Her I wouldn't have known. Mostly because I had to wrack my brain just to recall that I had known her. Her name was familiar, but that was pretty much all.
She seems like a very sweet, very nice woman. But I was amazed at how many people from high school she was still friends with. I kept in touch with exactly two people from high school. One died of AIDS and the other lives in Saudi Arabia. So high school reunions are not exactly big on my to-do list. But this woman chatted about our upcoming reunion (to which I wouldn't go if I was forced to at gunpoint) and caught me up on a litany of people whose faces I couldn't recall and whose names were only a vague recollection. She knew that Mary Jones is a teacher and Ann Brown is a nurse. Bob Smith died in a jet ski accident, which I'm sure is a tragedy but I'm pretty sure I never knew a Bob Smith. Dave Shmultski has three kids and is an architect in Phoenix and Susan Flugelhoffer is a dentist and is working on her third marriage.
It was really weird sitting there talking to a stranger about unknown people while gunk on my head turned my hair from gray to brown and people around us were discussing summer vacations and home repairs. She knew so much about so many people that I have forgotten that it surprised me.
I don't have any friends that go back that far. For me my oldest friendships stem from the mid-80's. Everyone before that has either died or we just fell out of touch. My best friend for most of high school moved to Columbus, Ohio and basically disappeared. My friend Maria is really just a Christmas card pal as she and her husband and kids have made a life out of living all over the world (Japan, Peru, Turkey, Malaysia, and now, Saudi Arabia) and I haven't actually seen her in over a decade. So the concept of this woman having been friends for 40 years with someone we both graduated with is astounding. (No, I haven't been out of high school 40 years -- they met in grade school.) But it was a nice slice of small town life to run into someone from the past and both flattering and baffling that she remembered me.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Transit
I took Caltrain down to see Husband this afternoon, with a connection to the light rail system to get me from Mountain View to Hell Central. I'd forgotten how fascinating it is to take the train. Not the train part, but the observation. Higher than ground level, speeding past lives, you get glimpses into little worlds. Sure, it's voyeuristic, but that's part of the charm. You look out through a window much in need of cleaning, and you keep your eyes open.
I passed low-rent apartments where people were hanging laundry out on balcony clotheslines and high-priced homes with a BMW in the drive and a gardener in the yard. I saw welding, towing, and carpentry. A woman pushing triplets in the world's largest stroller and a man riding one bike and holding on to another one that he was either taking home or stealing. Two dogs wrestling in a park, one cat staring out of a condo window, and three kids all wearing sports gear from a different team (Niners, Giants, A's). I saw tech geeks with uppity briefcases, iPod, iPhone, and laptops. I saw an obviously exhausted woman in nurse wear with three shopping bags and no front tooth. I was treated to a 3-year old's screamingly annoying rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and the thrumming beat of the hip-hop-hood behind me whose headphones were so loud I could even understand some of the words. I saw teenagers kiss goodbye with the desperate passion that only teenagers can manage....at the Palo Alto station, no doubt it would be at least 18 hours before they saw each other again and that last kiss has to hold them. And I saw, much to my amusement, how all the guys on the train looked up as the hot girl walked by.
I passed a guy in a wheelchair with a "Homeless Vet" sign and a scruffy mutt at his feet talking to a security guard who was eating an apple. And a huge guy in really skanky dreadlocks who was carrying what looked like a violin. Among my fellow passengers were observed the following items: two tennis rackets; a large sheet of poster board with photos of Hawaii on it; three huge suitcases that belonged to one small woman; a loaf of bread (no bag, no other groceries, just a guy carrying a loaf of bread); a red inflatable reindeer with wheels (I SWEAR I am not making this up!); a plastic lei, several computers, iPods, and cell phones; and a wok.
And all this passed by without me ever leaving my seat. Transit is heaven for someone who loves to people watch.
I took Caltrain down to see Husband this afternoon, with a connection to the light rail system to get me from Mountain View to Hell Central. I'd forgotten how fascinating it is to take the train. Not the train part, but the observation. Higher than ground level, speeding past lives, you get glimpses into little worlds. Sure, it's voyeuristic, but that's part of the charm. You look out through a window much in need of cleaning, and you keep your eyes open.
I passed low-rent apartments where people were hanging laundry out on balcony clotheslines and high-priced homes with a BMW in the drive and a gardener in the yard. I saw welding, towing, and carpentry. A woman pushing triplets in the world's largest stroller and a man riding one bike and holding on to another one that he was either taking home or stealing. Two dogs wrestling in a park, one cat staring out of a condo window, and three kids all wearing sports gear from a different team (Niners, Giants, A's). I saw tech geeks with uppity briefcases, iPod, iPhone, and laptops. I saw an obviously exhausted woman in nurse wear with three shopping bags and no front tooth. I was treated to a 3-year old's screamingly annoying rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star and the thrumming beat of the hip-hop-hood behind me whose headphones were so loud I could even understand some of the words. I saw teenagers kiss goodbye with the desperate passion that only teenagers can manage....at the Palo Alto station, no doubt it would be at least 18 hours before they saw each other again and that last kiss has to hold them. And I saw, much to my amusement, how all the guys on the train looked up as the hot girl walked by.
I passed a guy in a wheelchair with a "Homeless Vet" sign and a scruffy mutt at his feet talking to a security guard who was eating an apple. And a huge guy in really skanky dreadlocks who was carrying what looked like a violin. Among my fellow passengers were observed the following items: two tennis rackets; a large sheet of poster board with photos of Hawaii on it; three huge suitcases that belonged to one small woman; a loaf of bread (no bag, no other groceries, just a guy carrying a loaf of bread); a red inflatable reindeer with wheels (I SWEAR I am not making this up!); a plastic lei, several computers, iPods, and cell phones; and a wok.
And all this passed by without me ever leaving my seat. Transit is heaven for someone who loves to people watch.
Yawning
Insomnia is an odd creature. Sometimes I handle it better than others.
There are some nights where it doesn't bother me that I'm awake. I nestle cozily into a nest of pillows and blankets and indulge in a favorite old movie or good book. I'll have hot cocoa at 3 am or toast at 5.
Then there are the nights that feel 27-hours long and I feel 97-years old. Tonight is one of those nights. I feel all the well-earned aches and pains of working at the shelter (today I folded three barrels of towels). I'm exhausted and sleepy, but cannot sleep. I can't get comfortable or shut my brain off.
I know I'll fall asleep eventually tomorrow, I mean this, morning. And I'll be grateful to be unemployed and not have to haul my ass out of bed at 7 am even though I've only been asleep for an hour. If I'm lucky I'll get two or three hours before I wake up and get on with my day. Luckier still to have a day off to deal with being a zombie. I'm off at the shelter and not doing my radio show, so I don't even have to leave the house if I feel too tired to drive.
But with Husband snoring peacefully in the bedroom and Cipher curled up next to him like a loyal feline angel, I have to admit that I'm envious of everyone who manages to have a regular sleep cycle. And now, on to the next video.
Insomnia is an odd creature. Sometimes I handle it better than others.
There are some nights where it doesn't bother me that I'm awake. I nestle cozily into a nest of pillows and blankets and indulge in a favorite old movie or good book. I'll have hot cocoa at 3 am or toast at 5.
Then there are the nights that feel 27-hours long and I feel 97-years old. Tonight is one of those nights. I feel all the well-earned aches and pains of working at the shelter (today I folded three barrels of towels). I'm exhausted and sleepy, but cannot sleep. I can't get comfortable or shut my brain off.
I know I'll fall asleep eventually tomorrow, I mean this, morning. And I'll be grateful to be unemployed and not have to haul my ass out of bed at 7 am even though I've only been asleep for an hour. If I'm lucky I'll get two or three hours before I wake up and get on with my day. Luckier still to have a day off to deal with being a zombie. I'm off at the shelter and not doing my radio show, so I don't even have to leave the house if I feel too tired to drive.
But with Husband snoring peacefully in the bedroom and Cipher curled up next to him like a loyal feline angel, I have to admit that I'm envious of everyone who manages to have a regular sleep cycle. And now, on to the next video.
Photo of the day: Pidge
My wonderful husband gave me a fabulous present for our 6th wedding anniversary yesterday. A zoom lens for my camera. Expect to see a whole crop of new and better photos. I went out by the bay and took over 200 photos in less than an hour. The zoom is great and quite versatile. I found that it also takes great close-up photos of things nearby. Such as this pigeon.
Thanks, Husband. For the lens and, more importantly, for 6 amazing years. I love you.
My wonderful husband gave me a fabulous present for our 6th wedding anniversary yesterday. A zoom lens for my camera. Expect to see a whole crop of new and better photos. I went out by the bay and took over 200 photos in less than an hour. The zoom is great and quite versatile. I found that it also takes great close-up photos of things nearby. Such as this pigeon.
Thanks, Husband. For the lens and, more importantly, for 6 amazing years. I love you.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Pay Up
This article in the New York Times illustrates an increasingly-common practice in today's economy: credit card companies settling for less that the full amount owed in order to get delinquent accounts to pay something. You've probably seen the ads on TV for those credit counseling companies that offer to negotiate down your credit card bill.
Excuse me, but isn't that, well, stealing?
If you take something and don't pay for it, your a thief. If you charge $10,000 at Nordstrom and can't afford to pay it you get to negotiate so that you get that $10,000 worth of merchandise for only $6000? Why is that right?
Like most people, Husband and I have credit cards. And here's the thing, we pay our bills. Yes, I feel sorry for people who are out of work and in debt. But the thing is, and here's the hard lesson, don't buy things you can't pay for. I get the concept that if you have no money the idea of buying something and putting off paying for it is attractive, perhaps you might even see it as your only option. But you should have to pay for it eventually. And waiting until you're $10k in debt before you admit you can't pay for it is just wrong. But now it seems to be legal. Well I don't think it is. Nor do I think it's moral or fair. We pay our bills and I know we're lucky to be able to. If we couldn't pay them we'd stop charging things and find a way to pay the rest of the account. We wouldn't buy clothing we can't afford or trips we could live without. Yeah, if we were starving we might want to charge groceries. But I think we'd probably go to a food bank first because we would know we wouldn't be able to pay the bill once it came in.
Forgive my high horse here (what the hell does that expression mean, anyway?) but I'm tired of the sheer unfairness of it all. And it doesn't make sense. If you negotiate with a credit card company to pay, say $5k of a $7k debt it means you've got $5k to pay them with. Well why didn't you pay them the $5k in the first place so your account wouldn't be overdue? And why, when you're that much in debt and know you can't pay, do you continue to keep charging? Cut up your Visa card for fuck's sake.
This article in the New York Times illustrates an increasingly-common practice in today's economy: credit card companies settling for less that the full amount owed in order to get delinquent accounts to pay something. You've probably seen the ads on TV for those credit counseling companies that offer to negotiate down your credit card bill.
Excuse me, but isn't that, well, stealing?
If you take something and don't pay for it, your a thief. If you charge $10,000 at Nordstrom and can't afford to pay it you get to negotiate so that you get that $10,000 worth of merchandise for only $6000? Why is that right?
Like most people, Husband and I have credit cards. And here's the thing, we pay our bills. Yes, I feel sorry for people who are out of work and in debt. But the thing is, and here's the hard lesson, don't buy things you can't pay for. I get the concept that if you have no money the idea of buying something and putting off paying for it is attractive, perhaps you might even see it as your only option. But you should have to pay for it eventually. And waiting until you're $10k in debt before you admit you can't pay for it is just wrong. But now it seems to be legal. Well I don't think it is. Nor do I think it's moral or fair. We pay our bills and I know we're lucky to be able to. If we couldn't pay them we'd stop charging things and find a way to pay the rest of the account. We wouldn't buy clothing we can't afford or trips we could live without. Yeah, if we were starving we might want to charge groceries. But I think we'd probably go to a food bank first because we would know we wouldn't be able to pay the bill once it came in.
Forgive my high horse here (what the hell does that expression mean, anyway?) but I'm tired of the sheer unfairness of it all. And it doesn't make sense. If you negotiate with a credit card company to pay, say $5k of a $7k debt it means you've got $5k to pay them with. Well why didn't you pay them the $5k in the first place so your account wouldn't be overdue? And why, when you're that much in debt and know you can't pay, do you continue to keep charging? Cut up your Visa card for fuck's sake.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Eavesdropping
Overheard at the grocery store 1:
Man on cell phone: I was watching the Giants game, but I think she said he died.
(Wouldn't that be something you might want to be sure about?)
.....
Overheard at the grocery store 2:
Woman to man, in produce section: Get some carrots and some apples.
Man: Aren't we out of bread too?
Woman: Did I tell you to get bread?
(Well that's a happy marriage.
.....
Overheard at the shelter:
Little girl: Look mommy, kittens!
Mom: Don't touch the kittens, Imelda.
Little girl: If I don't touch them how will we know which one alive?
(Um, they're all alive, genius girl.)
Overheard at the grocery store 1:
Man on cell phone: I was watching the Giants game, but I think she said he died.
(Wouldn't that be something you might want to be sure about?)
.....
Overheard at the grocery store 2:
Woman to man, in produce section: Get some carrots and some apples.
Man: Aren't we out of bread too?
Woman: Did I tell you to get bread?
(Well that's a happy marriage.
.....
Overheard at the shelter:
Little girl: Look mommy, kittens!
Mom: Don't touch the kittens, Imelda.
Little girl: If I don't touch them how will we know which one alive?
(Um, they're all alive, genius girl.)
Saturday, June 13, 2009
I'm So Frickin' Hip...
...that I paid $300 for a watch that doesn't tell time. OK, it does, but you have to look at the side. The face is too fucking cool to do anything useful like, oh, what it's intended to do.
What pretentious yobbo buys this crap?
Oh, and in an unrelated note, check out Some e-Cards for a series of hilarious work-and-life-themed cards that you no doubt want to send to half the people you know.
...that I paid $300 for a watch that doesn't tell time. OK, it does, but you have to look at the side. The face is too fucking cool to do anything useful like, oh, what it's intended to do.
What pretentious yobbo buys this crap?
Oh, and in an unrelated note, check out Some e-Cards for a series of hilarious work-and-life-themed cards that you no doubt want to send to half the people you know.
Photo of the day: It's the Thought That Counts
I really appreciate it when something as municipally uninteresting as a streetlamp gets what little glamor it can. The city that put in this light could easily have given them boring, round bases. But they made the attempt to give them some small bit of style. I don't think it works in industrial spray-silver. But I have to give them points for trying. Thanks to everyone who does there bit to made the mundane less mundane. We, a world starving for beauty, culture, and history, thank you for it.
I really appreciate it when something as municipally uninteresting as a streetlamp gets what little glamor it can. The city that put in this light could easily have given them boring, round bases. But they made the attempt to give them some small bit of style. I don't think it works in industrial spray-silver. But I have to give them points for trying. Thanks to everyone who does there bit to made the mundane less mundane. We, a world starving for beauty, culture, and history, thank you for it.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Vanity Fair
For some reason I have a subscription to Vanity Fair. I'm not sure why. It's not really not my kind of magazine. And I swear I didn't renew but I keep getting it. I don't really care to read about rich New Yorkers I've never heard of. But there's been a series of article over the past few issues about the saga of Bernie Madoff, the investment guy accused of bilking people out of 80 gazallion dollars.
I don't get the ins and outs of it all and I haven't followed this store except for the VP profiles. But based on the stories, this guy is impressively evil. Like Bond villain evil. Yeah it all comes down to greed but when you think about the magnitude of what he's done you almost have to step back and say "wow." I mean if you're going to steal, and it looks like this guy did, why steal small? He's like the Nobel Prize winner of dishonest. If it's all true, he took so much money from so many people with so little regard for trifling things like ethics that it's almost inspiring in a way. I mean I don't even take pennies from the "need a penny?" tray when I actually need a penny, so having the balls to pocket that much money is part of some world I can't fathom.
No, no moral to this. Just kind of shaking my head at it all.
For some reason I have a subscription to Vanity Fair. I'm not sure why. It's not really not my kind of magazine. And I swear I didn't renew but I keep getting it. I don't really care to read about rich New Yorkers I've never heard of. But there's been a series of article over the past few issues about the saga of Bernie Madoff, the investment guy accused of bilking people out of 80 gazallion dollars.
I don't get the ins and outs of it all and I haven't followed this store except for the VP profiles. But based on the stories, this guy is impressively evil. Like Bond villain evil. Yeah it all comes down to greed but when you think about the magnitude of what he's done you almost have to step back and say "wow." I mean if you're going to steal, and it looks like this guy did, why steal small? He's like the Nobel Prize winner of dishonest. If it's all true, he took so much money from so many people with so little regard for trifling things like ethics that it's almost inspiring in a way. I mean I don't even take pennies from the "need a penny?" tray when I actually need a penny, so having the balls to pocket that much money is part of some world I can't fathom.
No, no moral to this. Just kind of shaking my head at it all.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Photo of the day: Fountain Fifteen
Stanford has dozens of fountains all over the campus. This one I call #15 for absolutely no reason. There's no sign by it with the number fifteen on it. It doesn't have 15 regurgitating goldfish spewing water from their mouths, or 15 water-spilling nymphs. I just call it that because I'm weird and I give things random names. So there.
Stanford has dozens of fountains all over the campus. This one I call #15 for absolutely no reason. There's no sign by it with the number fifteen on it. It doesn't have 15 regurgitating goldfish spewing water from their mouths, or 15 water-spilling nymphs. I just call it that because I'm weird and I give things random names. So there.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
My Dream House
I have always wanted my own house. I doubt it's a dream that will ever come true, but I'll probably never stop wanting.
In the past few years houses have gotten insane. I grew up in a house that had eight people, four bedrooms, and two bathrooms. And we did fine. Now, apparently, you need about 1500 square feet per person. Every house has to have 18 foot ceilings, marble counters in the kitchen, and at least two bathrooms per person.
My ultimate dream house has none of those. But it does have a few things that I insist upon. (Which is why this house will always remain a dream and not a reality.)
1. A secret passage. Shade of "Clue." I love the idea of a hidden passageway. A secret way to get from A to B. Of course it has to have a hidden entrance too. A false bookshelf in the library. A trompe l'oeil painting. Pull the sconce to open. Or tilt down the fake copy of The Adventures of Casanova to activate. Perhaps I grew up watching too many cheesy British mystery movies. But I've always wanted a hidden way out.
2. A library. A real library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Preferably two levels with one of those rolling ladders. Of course there needs to be a fireplace, some comfy leather chairs, good lamps (the older I get the more I value good reading light), and lots of gorgeous woodwork. I don't insist on the stereotypical leather-bound collections. But I do insist on never having to give away another book because I don't have room to keep them all.
3. A fireplace in the bedroom. I've stayed in hotels and B&Bs that had that wonderful item and I'm a huge fan. I love fires -- there's nothing better on a cold, stormy night. And the wonder of curling up in a comfy bed with a fire in the hearth is truly delightful. What used to be a practical response to the lack of central heating sadly fell out of favor ages ago. I know it's back in the megamansions that dot the Bay Area, and it's the one feature of these huge places that I envy.
4. A truly indulgent bathtub. I prefer baths to showers. While our place has an entirely adequate tub for relaxing, it's still not the tub of my dreams. It needs to be deep, big enough for two, with jacuzzi jets and a surround to hold candles, water, books, and the other necessities of true relaxation. A good stereo or perhaps even a TV would be nice, but not mandatory.
5. A cat room. As I get deeper into the wonders of volunteering with animals, I see the increasing need for foster families. Our cat, Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) doesn't like to share and we really don't have room for segregation. But I'd love to have a room away from Cipher where I could let a litter or two have free reign. It would have a sink, a small fridge, and a microwave (all necessities for hand-raising kittens). Plus lots of room for them to play, soft places to sleep, things to climb, and a window to look out.
I don't need the gourmet kitchen with sub-zero fridge (I don't even know what that means anyway), or anything too fancy. But in my daydreams, I'm happy with my books, fireplace, tub, secrets and enough room to give lots of kitties a home until they can get adopted.
I have always wanted my own house. I doubt it's a dream that will ever come true, but I'll probably never stop wanting.
In the past few years houses have gotten insane. I grew up in a house that had eight people, four bedrooms, and two bathrooms. And we did fine. Now, apparently, you need about 1500 square feet per person. Every house has to have 18 foot ceilings, marble counters in the kitchen, and at least two bathrooms per person.
My ultimate dream house has none of those. But it does have a few things that I insist upon. (Which is why this house will always remain a dream and not a reality.)
1. A secret passage. Shade of "Clue." I love the idea of a hidden passageway. A secret way to get from A to B. Of course it has to have a hidden entrance too. A false bookshelf in the library. A trompe l'oeil painting. Pull the sconce to open. Or tilt down the fake copy of The Adventures of Casanova to activate. Perhaps I grew up watching too many cheesy British mystery movies. But I've always wanted a hidden way out.
2. A library. A real library with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Preferably two levels with one of those rolling ladders. Of course there needs to be a fireplace, some comfy leather chairs, good lamps (the older I get the more I value good reading light), and lots of gorgeous woodwork. I don't insist on the stereotypical leather-bound collections. But I do insist on never having to give away another book because I don't have room to keep them all.
3. A fireplace in the bedroom. I've stayed in hotels and B&Bs that had that wonderful item and I'm a huge fan. I love fires -- there's nothing better on a cold, stormy night. And the wonder of curling up in a comfy bed with a fire in the hearth is truly delightful. What used to be a practical response to the lack of central heating sadly fell out of favor ages ago. I know it's back in the megamansions that dot the Bay Area, and it's the one feature of these huge places that I envy.
4. A truly indulgent bathtub. I prefer baths to showers. While our place has an entirely adequate tub for relaxing, it's still not the tub of my dreams. It needs to be deep, big enough for two, with jacuzzi jets and a surround to hold candles, water, books, and the other necessities of true relaxation. A good stereo or perhaps even a TV would be nice, but not mandatory.
5. A cat room. As I get deeper into the wonders of volunteering with animals, I see the increasing need for foster families. Our cat, Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) doesn't like to share and we really don't have room for segregation. But I'd love to have a room away from Cipher where I could let a litter or two have free reign. It would have a sink, a small fridge, and a microwave (all necessities for hand-raising kittens). Plus lots of room for them to play, soft places to sleep, things to climb, and a window to look out.
I don't need the gourmet kitchen with sub-zero fridge (I don't even know what that means anyway), or anything too fancy. But in my daydreams, I'm happy with my books, fireplace, tub, secrets and enough room to give lots of kitties a home until they can get adopted.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Photos of the day: Cutest Kitten Ever
I mean really, have you ever seen a cuter kitten? I worked with her today and completely fell in love. She's a tiny thing but a total snugglemeister. After I took these shots she fell asleep leaning against me and making me her slave for life.
I never got to see Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) as a kitten, but I imagine her being this cute.
I mean really, have you ever seen a cuter kitten? I worked with her today and completely fell in love. She's a tiny thing but a total snugglemeister. After I took these shots she fell asleep leaning against me and making me her slave for life.
I never got to see Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) as a kitten, but I imagine her being this cute.
Monday, June 08, 2009
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Sparks
Near Reno, Nevada is the town of Sparks. It used to be a nothing sort of town but I'm sure now it's huge and important with golf courses and housing divisions with the word "Estates" in them.
Years ago on a solo road trip I found myself in Sparks. I'm still not sure why. There was a little diner there. Place called "Edna's" or "Ethel's" or some such name. ("Ed"s?) I driven all night from the Bay Area and found myself there at about 10 am, eating silver dollar pancakes and drinking coffee from a mug with a picture of a cow on it. All there coffee mugs had cows on them. There was nothing other cow-themed in the place. No photos. No cow creamers. Just the mugs with the cows. Must have gotten a deal on them.
The pancakes were as light and fluffy as brake pads, but as I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before I didn't particularly care. I ate them at the chipped counter where Saturday morning cartoons played on the overhead TV and I could watch the cooks dance orders around the grill. The waitress had bright red lipstick, the kind that went out of style before I was born, and had fingernails with polka dots painted on them. The guy sitting next to me looked like a biker, but he was reading The New Yorker and shared with me a cartoon that made him laugh featuring two goldfish in a bowl taking about passing an interview with the co-op board. He also asked me if I knew who Charles Bukowski was and if I had any gum. (I did, and I didn't.)
After breakfast I walked down the block to a grocery store where I bought a 6-pack of Coke, a bag of Ruffles, and some aspirin. I remember passing a guy in really ugly brown suit who had a shopping cart loaded with Hungry Man dinners and generic vodka. Finally someone who was having a worse day than I.
I got into my car, which didn't have air conditioning. It was still morning but it was already about 90 degrees. I popped open one of the lukewarm cokes and prepared to leave Sparks. Turning my radio I found, oddly enough, a station playing Chopin and preluded my way out of town, heading toward Tahoe.
I've never been back to Sparks. Never felt the need.
Near Reno, Nevada is the town of Sparks. It used to be a nothing sort of town but I'm sure now it's huge and important with golf courses and housing divisions with the word "Estates" in them.
Years ago on a solo road trip I found myself in Sparks. I'm still not sure why. There was a little diner there. Place called "Edna's" or "Ethel's" or some such name. ("Ed"s?) I driven all night from the Bay Area and found myself there at about 10 am, eating silver dollar pancakes and drinking coffee from a mug with a picture of a cow on it. All there coffee mugs had cows on them. There was nothing other cow-themed in the place. No photos. No cow creamers. Just the mugs with the cows. Must have gotten a deal on them.
The pancakes were as light and fluffy as brake pads, but as I hadn't eaten since lunch the day before I didn't particularly care. I ate them at the chipped counter where Saturday morning cartoons played on the overhead TV and I could watch the cooks dance orders around the grill. The waitress had bright red lipstick, the kind that went out of style before I was born, and had fingernails with polka dots painted on them. The guy sitting next to me looked like a biker, but he was reading The New Yorker and shared with me a cartoon that made him laugh featuring two goldfish in a bowl taking about passing an interview with the co-op board. He also asked me if I knew who Charles Bukowski was and if I had any gum. (I did, and I didn't.)
After breakfast I walked down the block to a grocery store where I bought a 6-pack of Coke, a bag of Ruffles, and some aspirin. I remember passing a guy in really ugly brown suit who had a shopping cart loaded with Hungry Man dinners and generic vodka. Finally someone who was having a worse day than I.
I got into my car, which didn't have air conditioning. It was still morning but it was already about 90 degrees. I popped open one of the lukewarm cokes and prepared to leave Sparks. Turning my radio I found, oddly enough, a station playing Chopin and preluded my way out of town, heading toward Tahoe.
I've never been back to Sparks. Never felt the need.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
You Have Just Heard Pffllmgqt
The biggest hazard facing a world music DJ, like I, is the unrelenting ruination of names and tracks. I don't speak anything but English, and barely that. I helpfully studied Latin and ancient Greek in college; so I can play all the Ave Marias I want with a clear conscience. And I can quote John Wilkes Booth (sic semper tyrannis!, but I can't tell you the name of my favorite song on a particular CD.
Could you remember Muziki Ni Kazi Yetu by Culture Musical Club? Or Valse de Ximena by Vayo? How about Lountang by Ablaye Cissoko or Ah! Que de Peine et d'Amour by Matapat? I can tell you what they sound like, but if someone said "what is that song by Matapat?" I couldn't tell you. Nor, in fact, could I tell you any lyric from any of these songs. Except that I know the Matapat song Ah! Que de Peine et d'Amour begins with, oddly enough, "ah! Que de peine et d'amour."
Then there are the artists. Did you know "Moh Alileche" is prounounced "Moe Ali-leesh?" Can you say "Alan Shavarsh Bardezbanian" quickly and correctly? How about "Hariprasad Chaurasia", "Halau Hula Ka No'eau", "Branko Krsmanovic", or the "She'koyokh Klezmer Ensemble"? Yeah, I can't either.
The biggest hazard facing a world music DJ, like I, is the unrelenting ruination of names and tracks. I don't speak anything but English, and barely that. I helpfully studied Latin and ancient Greek in college; so I can play all the Ave Marias I want with a clear conscience. And I can quote John Wilkes Booth (sic semper tyrannis!, but I can't tell you the name of my favorite song on a particular CD.
Could you remember Muziki Ni Kazi Yetu by Culture Musical Club? Or Valse de Ximena by Vayo? How about Lountang by Ablaye Cissoko or Ah! Que de Peine et d'Amour by Matapat? I can tell you what they sound like, but if someone said "what is that song by Matapat?" I couldn't tell you. Nor, in fact, could I tell you any lyric from any of these songs. Except that I know the Matapat song Ah! Que de Peine et d'Amour begins with, oddly enough, "ah! Que de peine et d'amour."
Then there are the artists. Did you know "Moh Alileche" is prounounced "Moe Ali-leesh?" Can you say "Alan Shavarsh Bardezbanian" quickly and correctly? How about "Hariprasad Chaurasia", "Halau Hula Ka No'eau", "Branko Krsmanovic", or the "She'koyokh Klezmer Ensemble"? Yeah, I can't either.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Eavesdropping
Overheard at the grocery store:
Should we get soap or frozen waffles?
(I didn't know they were interchangeable.)
.....
Overheard at the gas station:
Man on cell phone: Yeah I know I said I was sick yesterday, but today I really am sick.
(He was wearing shorts and had the top down on his convertible.)
.....
Overheard at the shelter:
Woman 1: Did you know that Donna got engaged?
Woman 2: To Jack?
Woman 1: No, Tony.
Woman 2: Who's Tony?
Woman 1: Her fiance.
(Um...duh!)
Overheard at the grocery store:
Should we get soap or frozen waffles?
(I didn't know they were interchangeable.)
.....
Overheard at the gas station:
Man on cell phone: Yeah I know I said I was sick yesterday, but today I really am sick.
(He was wearing shorts and had the top down on his convertible.)
.....
Overheard at the shelter:
Woman 1: Did you know that Donna got engaged?
Woman 2: To Jack?
Woman 1: No, Tony.
Woman 2: Who's Tony?
Woman 1: Her fiance.
(Um...duh!)
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Photo of the day: The Scary Old Tree From Your Childhood
Whether it haunted your mind after reading a scary story or brushed against your bedroom window on windy nights. Maybe you had to walk past it on a snowy day. Or maybe you ran past it because if walked too slowly it might get you. We all have scary trees from our childhood. Here's mine.
Whether it haunted your mind after reading a scary story or brushed against your bedroom window on windy nights. Maybe you had to walk past it on a snowy day. Or maybe you ran past it because if walked too slowly it might get you. We all have scary trees from our childhood. Here's mine.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Monday, June 01, 2009
The year so far in photo review
One of my goals for this year was to post a photograph a day on this blog. I am happy to say that I have been able to do this. I am unhappy with the quality of many of them. I have a lovely camera, which I have no idea how to use properly because I don' know where the manual is. I've tried the old-fashioned method of "fiddling" with things, but that hasn't seem to helped. I know that I can take a good photograph and I know I have a good eye. It's only the execution that I can't figure out. Lighting, exposure, and the "what does this button do" stuff that are so crucial to actually being successful.
I love photography. One of my childhood dreams was to be a photographer for National Geographic. I've always wanted to be better, and took a few classes in the course of my checkered college career, but it's always boiled down to not ever knowing how to get the most out of my cameras. I suppose I'll have to roll up my sleeves and just try everything and take notes, but it's frustrating. Even more frustrating, though, is posting photos that I'm not particularly proud of just because I need one for today.
Oh sure, over the past 6 months I've posted a few good ones. But most are deservedly forgotten. So now that we stumble into part 2 of 2009 I guess my new goal is to take better photographs. Bear with me while I try to get better.
One of my goals for this year was to post a photograph a day on this blog. I am happy to say that I have been able to do this. I am unhappy with the quality of many of them. I have a lovely camera, which I have no idea how to use properly because I don' know where the manual is. I've tried the old-fashioned method of "fiddling" with things, but that hasn't seem to helped. I know that I can take a good photograph and I know I have a good eye. It's only the execution that I can't figure out. Lighting, exposure, and the "what does this button do" stuff that are so crucial to actually being successful.
I love photography. One of my childhood dreams was to be a photographer for National Geographic. I've always wanted to be better, and took a few classes in the course of my checkered college career, but it's always boiled down to not ever knowing how to get the most out of my cameras. I suppose I'll have to roll up my sleeves and just try everything and take notes, but it's frustrating. Even more frustrating, though, is posting photos that I'm not particularly proud of just because I need one for today.
Oh sure, over the past 6 months I've posted a few good ones. But most are deservedly forgotten. So now that we stumble into part 2 of 2009 I guess my new goal is to take better photographs. Bear with me while I try to get better.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Eavesdropping
Overheard at the shelter...
Man 1: ...I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Man 2: Well you know what they say. Hindsight is 50/50.
Man 1 (laughing): It's 20/20.
Man 2: What's 20/20?
Man 1: Hindsight. You know, like vision. 20/20 vision.
Man 2: That's stupid. 20 and 20 is only 40. It's 50/50. If you have 50/50 eyesight then your eyes are 100% perfect.
Overheard at the shelter...
Man 1: ...I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.
Man 2: Well you know what they say. Hindsight is 50/50.
Man 1 (laughing): It's 20/20.
Man 2: What's 20/20?
Man 1: Hindsight. You know, like vision. 20/20 vision.
Man 2: That's stupid. 20 and 20 is only 40. It's 50/50. If you have 50/50 eyesight then your eyes are 100% perfect.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Save Our State Parks
If you live in California, I urge you to take action to help keep our state parks open. The Governator has a brilliant money-saving plan that includes closing nearly all of our state parks. The SF Chronicle story gives more info than I can fit here. But the proposed closings include all but 5 Bay Area parks. Big Sur would close. As would Mt. Tam and Angel Island. And every state beach. Every one.
The California State Parks Foundation has an online petition you can sign, as well as additional information about how you can get involved in the fight to keep our local treasures alive. For those of you on Facebook, please search for California State Parks and join their fan club for news updates and more details.
If you live in California, I urge you to take action to help keep our state parks open. The Governator has a brilliant money-saving plan that includes closing nearly all of our state parks. The SF Chronicle story gives more info than I can fit here. But the proposed closings include all but 5 Bay Area parks. Big Sur would close. As would Mt. Tam and Angel Island. And every state beach. Every one.
The California State Parks Foundation has an online petition you can sign, as well as additional information about how you can get involved in the fight to keep our local treasures alive. For those of you on Facebook, please search for California State Parks and join their fan club for news updates and more details.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Photo of the day: Lily
Yesterday I talked to someone who has a dog named Lily. Today I hung out with a beautiful mama cat and her two rambunctiuous kittens, Lily (the other being James....obviously named by a Harry Potter fan). I also heard a woman call her daughter, Lily. And so this photo. Because, apparently, I am surrounded by lillies.
Yesterday I talked to someone who has a dog named Lily. Today I hung out with a beautiful mama cat and her two rambunctiuous kittens, Lily (the other being James....obviously named by a Harry Potter fan). I also heard a woman call her daughter, Lily. And so this photo. Because, apparently, I am surrounded by lillies.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Catching up....
British couple celebrates their 81st anniversary. Who says love never lasts?
.....
SF Gate's Pet Haiku Contest winners are in. There are some gems.
.....
More from the BBC. Animals fascinate me. This video of rooks figuring out what tool will earn them the food is fascinating, as is the story that follows.
.....
Goodbye cowboys, hello Simmie Knox. The Obamas changing the art in the White House.
......
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, was a firm believer in spiritualism. It may seem surprising for a man of such education. I thought this article was interesting, though too short.
British couple celebrates their 81st anniversary. Who says love never lasts?
.....
SF Gate's Pet Haiku Contest winners are in. There are some gems.
.....
More from the BBC. Animals fascinate me. This video of rooks figuring out what tool will earn them the food is fascinating, as is the story that follows.
.....
Goodbye cowboys, hello Simmie Knox. The Obamas changing the art in the White House.
......
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, creator of Sherlock Holmes, was a firm believer in spiritualism. It may seem surprising for a man of such education. I thought this article was interesting, though too short.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Photo of the day: The Last of Not Grandma's Roses
There are probably 5 more rose bushes that I haven't photographed. But I am bored with them. As I suspect you are. (That is, if anybody is actually looking at my blog.) But I had to do the white ones because, hello, House of York and all that. (Wars of the Roses, baby.)
There are probably 5 more rose bushes that I haven't photographed. But I am bored with them. As I suspect you are. (That is, if anybody is actually looking at my blog.) But I had to do the white ones because, hello, House of York and all that. (Wars of the Roses, baby.)
Friday, May 22, 2009
Eavesdropping
Overheard at the shelter
Woman 1: I 'm still not sure if I want a cat or a dog.
Woman 2: I still think you want shoes.
.....
Overheard at the grocery store
Mother: What kind of cereal do you want?
Child: Pop Tarts
Mother: You can't have Pop Tarts. How about Cheerios?
Child: How about Pop Tarts?
Overheard at the shelter
Woman 1: I 'm still not sure if I want a cat or a dog.
Woman 2: I still think you want shoes.
.....
Overheard at the grocery store
Mother: What kind of cereal do you want?
Child: Pop Tarts
Mother: You can't have Pop Tarts. How about Cheerios?
Child: How about Pop Tarts?
Photo of the day: Not More Grandma's Roses
These beautiful red roses grow between our house and the one next door. Thanks to their automated watering schedule, they get lots of water, as opposed to our other bushes that only get watered when we remember. I love the deep red of these flowers, as do the bees who seem to be particularly fond of this one.
These beautiful red roses grow between our house and the one next door. Thanks to their automated watering schedule, they get lots of water, as opposed to our other bushes that only get watered when we remember. I love the deep red of these flowers, as do the bees who seem to be particularly fond of this one.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Photo of the day: Grandma's Roses
OK, not grandma. Grandma's sister. My great Aunt Clemence used to live in the house where Husband and I live. I think she was responsible for all of the gorgeous rose bushes we have growing in our yard. This is, obviously, the pink one. It's well loved by Pigpen, one of the neighborhood cats who loves to snooze in its shade on sunny days.
OK, not grandma. Grandma's sister. My great Aunt Clemence used to live in the house where Husband and I live. I think she was responsible for all of the gorgeous rose bushes we have growing in our yard. This is, obviously, the pink one. It's well loved by Pigpen, one of the neighborhood cats who loves to snooze in its shade on sunny days.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
No, it's not all right!!!
There are two rooms full of cats at the shelter. One with individual kennels. One with kennels and with three small, closet-sized rooms with glass doors. We call them "condos." These condos usually have 4 or 5 cats in them. The doors are kept closed, obviously, and there are signs plastered over them saying "do not open." Along with all the other signs that ask the customers to please not touch the cats.
So I walk into the room and some galacticly stupid woman and her spawn of Satan have not only opened the door to the condo, but child spawn is sitting in the condo petting one of the cats. The other 4 cats are now roaming free around the room. I walk in and look at her with a combination of "you've got to be fucking kidding me" and "there are cats everywhere." And stupid woman looks at me and says "this is all right, isn't it?"
Not it's not fucking all right. There are cats running free around the room. (Thank goodness the door to the room was shut otherwise there'd be cats running all over the shelter.) So I tell her as politely as I can that, no, it's not all right. And to please not touch the cats. So she gives me a dumb, glazed smile and apologizes vaguely....and leaves the room. And now I've got to corral a group of loose cats and get them back where they belong.
To make it worse, when I came into the room I was carrying a cat I had just finished TLCing. Said kitty freaked out at all the other cats wandering around and jumped down. Now I have two groups of cats cross-contaminating and two can't-tell-them-apart pure black cats, one going into one condo and the other to a different condo.
Seriously, how stupid could this woman be? No it's not fucking all right!!! How tiny and useless does your brain have to be to think there's anything OK about letting cats loose? I mean even if we didn't have bloody signs bloody everywhere, does it make any sense that we'd be all "sure, whatever" about giving our animals free roam of the entire building?
There are two rooms full of cats at the shelter. One with individual kennels. One with kennels and with three small, closet-sized rooms with glass doors. We call them "condos." These condos usually have 4 or 5 cats in them. The doors are kept closed, obviously, and there are signs plastered over them saying "do not open." Along with all the other signs that ask the customers to please not touch the cats.
So I walk into the room and some galacticly stupid woman and her spawn of Satan have not only opened the door to the condo, but child spawn is sitting in the condo petting one of the cats. The other 4 cats are now roaming free around the room. I walk in and look at her with a combination of "you've got to be fucking kidding me" and "there are cats everywhere." And stupid woman looks at me and says "this is all right, isn't it?"
Not it's not fucking all right. There are cats running free around the room. (Thank goodness the door to the room was shut otherwise there'd be cats running all over the shelter.) So I tell her as politely as I can that, no, it's not all right. And to please not touch the cats. So she gives me a dumb, glazed smile and apologizes vaguely....and leaves the room. And now I've got to corral a group of loose cats and get them back where they belong.
To make it worse, when I came into the room I was carrying a cat I had just finished TLCing. Said kitty freaked out at all the other cats wandering around and jumped down. Now I have two groups of cats cross-contaminating and two can't-tell-them-apart pure black cats, one going into one condo and the other to a different condo.
Seriously, how stupid could this woman be? No it's not fucking all right!!! How tiny and useless does your brain have to be to think there's anything OK about letting cats loose? I mean even if we didn't have bloody signs bloody everywhere, does it make any sense that we'd be all "sure, whatever" about giving our animals free roam of the entire building?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
Kittens
The kitten nursery opened today. I had forgotten how tiny they are. The average weight is about 10 ounces. Only two litters at the moment, 5 kittens and 3 kittens. It was great to be back in there, sticking syringes of stinky food into the tiny mouths of reluctant, squirming little critters. Ah yes, the scent of kitten food. It had escaped my mind until that first whiff and then the sense memory came back. Of course the fact that it got onto my shirt and into my hair helped cement the "oh yes, I remember this smell" recollection.
I know these guys aren't going to be around long. As soon as they're old enough to be adopted, they're going to be snapped up. I'm thrilled. And, of course, a bit sad that all the amazing adult cats in need of a home may be overshadowed by the overwhelming cuteness of the kittens.
I just wish I could give them all homes. The cats, not the kittens.
The kitten nursery opened today. I had forgotten how tiny they are. The average weight is about 10 ounces. Only two litters at the moment, 5 kittens and 3 kittens. It was great to be back in there, sticking syringes of stinky food into the tiny mouths of reluctant, squirming little critters. Ah yes, the scent of kitten food. It had escaped my mind until that first whiff and then the sense memory came back. Of course the fact that it got onto my shirt and into my hair helped cement the "oh yes, I remember this smell" recollection.
I know these guys aren't going to be around long. As soon as they're old enough to be adopted, they're going to be snapped up. I'm thrilled. And, of course, a bit sad that all the amazing adult cats in need of a home may be overshadowed by the overwhelming cuteness of the kittens.
I just wish I could give them all homes. The cats, not the kittens.
Photo of the day: California in the Sunshine
Such a stereotypical image for the Golden State. Palm trees set against a sky of Renaissance blue. But hey, why fight the classics? I can't get the shot of a classic convertible driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. I have, however, done the Golden Gate Bridge, although from a slightly more unusual angle than usual. But sometimes you just need to go with the myth and give the impression that we have palm trees on every street, blocking our multi-million dollar mansions from view.
Such a stereotypical image for the Golden State. Palm trees set against a sky of Renaissance blue. But hey, why fight the classics? I can't get the shot of a classic convertible driving down the Pacific Coast Highway. I have, however, done the Golden Gate Bridge, although from a slightly more unusual angle than usual. But sometimes you just need to go with the myth and give the impression that we have palm trees on every street, blocking our multi-million dollar mansions from view.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
CD Pick of the Week: Warsaw Village Band, Infinity
Polish folk music played by mind-bendingly good musicians and infused with modern sensibilities and world influences. Wicked good throughout. Excellent strings and percussion plus vocals by what sounds like a group of sirens from hell (in a good way). Often dark and mysterious, always surprising and compelling. One of the best world discs of the year so far.
Photo of the day: Le Chat, Part Deux
OK, it's cheating to use a photo of the same cat two days in a row. But she's so beautiful I had to. Besides, it was too frickin' hot today to take any new photos and I'm fresh out of ideas. Sorry if I'm in danger of becoming a crazy cat lady. I warn you, though, it's gonna get worse. The kitten nursery opens on Monday and I'm on duty two shifts a week. If you're not careful, I'll have you owning a cat or a kitten by the end of the summer.
OK, it's cheating to use a photo of the same cat two days in a row. But she's so beautiful I had to. Besides, it was too frickin' hot today to take any new photos and I'm fresh out of ideas. Sorry if I'm in danger of becoming a crazy cat lady. I warn you, though, it's gonna get worse. The kitten nursery opens on Monday and I'm on duty two shifts a week. If you're not careful, I'll have you owning a cat or a kitten by the end of the summer.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Photo of the day: Scene Stealer
Isn't she gorgeous? I worked with her today at the shelter and was just amazed at how beautiful she is. Those eyes. That silky coat. That flirtatious manner. She's a total heart stealer (and a stealer of pipe cleaners as well) and as playful and loving as they come. Someone snap her up, she's a superstar.
Isn't she gorgeous? I worked with her today at the shelter and was just amazed at how beautiful she is. Those eyes. That silky coat. That flirtatious manner. She's a total heart stealer (and a stealer of pipe cleaners as well) and as playful and loving as they come. Someone snap her up, she's a superstar.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Photo of the day: Cat on a Warm Tile Roof
I captured this little guy back in November, on election day, actually. Our polling place is a senior resident center and this appears to be one of the security guards. He was sitting up on the roof of a garden area, staring down anyone who wandered by. Maybe an undercover poll worker? Wanting to make sure everyone who came in had their voter's guide already filled out? He obviously had me pegged as being all set because he didn't ask for my ID, instead he focused his attention on a little brown bird who appeared to have come to the wrong voting place.
I captured this little guy back in November, on election day, actually. Our polling place is a senior resident center and this appears to be one of the security guards. He was sitting up on the roof of a garden area, staring down anyone who wandered by. Maybe an undercover poll worker? Wanting to make sure everyone who came in had their voter's guide already filled out? He obviously had me pegged as being all set because he didn't ask for my ID, instead he focused his attention on a little brown bird who appeared to have come to the wrong voting place.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Eavesdropping
Overheard at the shelter
Man to obviously dim woman: That black cat looks like a jaguar.
Obviously dim woman: Oh I think he's cute. You really think he looks like a car?
...
Overheard at the shelter 2
Woman on cell phone: He was just too Zen. And he likes Monopoly.
Not sure what those two things have in common. Can you be a capitalist Zen?
Overheard at the shelter
Man to obviously dim woman: That black cat looks like a jaguar.
Obviously dim woman: Oh I think he's cute. You really think he looks like a car?
...
Overheard at the shelter 2
Woman on cell phone: He was just too Zen. And he likes Monopoly.
Not sure what those two things have in common. Can you be a capitalist Zen?
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Photo of the day: Burning the Midnight Fire
The wind makes me want a fire. The insomnia makes me want sleep. I have one, but not the other. But all is not lost. I have hot cocoa, a good movie, a good book, and the knowledge that in a few hours sleep would be but a memory anyway as Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You If You Don't Agree tm) starts her middle of the night rambles.
The wind makes me want a fire. The insomnia makes me want sleep. I have one, but not the other. But all is not lost. I have hot cocoa, a good movie, a good book, and the knowledge that in a few hours sleep would be but a memory anyway as Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You If You Don't Agree tm) starts her middle of the night rambles.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Sunday, May 10, 2009
I Am (Kinda) A Mom
Today is Mother's Day. And I send love to all my friends who are moms.
I am not the mother of a child. But I am one of those crazy pet people who considers her cat as her child. (OK, not really.) But for the next few months, I am going to be, kinda, a mom.
This marks the second year the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA will run their kitten nursery and I am once again signing up. Since I am blessedly unemployed, I'll be doing two afternoons a week at the nursery, plus two afternoons a week with my regular cat duty.
Mother's Day marks the unofficial start of kitten season. From now until early to mid-september, we will be overrun with adorable, but tiny and helpless abandoned kittens. They need constant feeding, care, medical attention and love. Hell, they even need to be taught how to poop. I am happy to help out and, in fact, feel incredibly lucky to be able to do so. But it's hard seeing so many tiny little furballs in need of care and homes. It's also hard to know that many people will scoop up these kittens, while ignoring the adult, or even "vintage" cats, equally in need of love and a lap.
I know from my work last year at the kitten nursery that I'm looking at a few months of hard work, getting kitten food all over me, getting peed on, and hauling around bags of trash and laundry. And I can't wait. But I urge you if you have any extra cash sitting around to consider making a donation to the animal shelter of your choice as every one will be facing the same work as we will be. You might also consider volunteering your time or even signing up to foster a litter of kittens. You'll love the work, feel good about what you're doing, and you'll feel (kinda) like a mom.
Today is Mother's Day. And I send love to all my friends who are moms.
I am not the mother of a child. But I am one of those crazy pet people who considers her cat as her child. (OK, not really.) But for the next few months, I am going to be, kinda, a mom.
This marks the second year the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA will run their kitten nursery and I am once again signing up. Since I am blessedly unemployed, I'll be doing two afternoons a week at the nursery, plus two afternoons a week with my regular cat duty.
Mother's Day marks the unofficial start of kitten season. From now until early to mid-september, we will be overrun with adorable, but tiny and helpless abandoned kittens. They need constant feeding, care, medical attention and love. Hell, they even need to be taught how to poop. I am happy to help out and, in fact, feel incredibly lucky to be able to do so. But it's hard seeing so many tiny little furballs in need of care and homes. It's also hard to know that many people will scoop up these kittens, while ignoring the adult, or even "vintage" cats, equally in need of love and a lap.
I know from my work last year at the kitten nursery that I'm looking at a few months of hard work, getting kitten food all over me, getting peed on, and hauling around bags of trash and laundry. And I can't wait. But I urge you if you have any extra cash sitting around to consider making a donation to the animal shelter of your choice as every one will be facing the same work as we will be. You might also consider volunteering your time or even signing up to foster a litter of kittens. You'll love the work, feel good about what you're doing, and you'll feel (kinda) like a mom.
Photo of the day: Things Are Looking Up
I like looking up around buildings to see what's up there. Fire escapes. Gargoyles. Interesting windows. In this case, just an odd angle that caught my eye. The great thing about looking up, though, is that if you do it long enough people will join you just to figure out what you're looking at. Try it.
I like looking up around buildings to see what's up there. Fire escapes. Gargoyles. Interesting windows. In this case, just an odd angle that caught my eye. The great thing about looking up, though, is that if you do it long enough people will join you just to figure out what you're looking at. Try it.
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