Two From the Kitten Nursery

This little one is just about ready to go to a foster home. He'll be back and available for adoption soon.

This is Daniel Striped Tiger. He's brand new. I got to snuggle with him today and totally fell in love, in spite of the fact that he, like Cipher, wants to lick my hair.

Photo of the day: Light Effects

I'm not even going to tell you what this is. I just like it.

Pigpen in the Planter

Pigpen, one of our neighborhood cats, loves our side yard. She can often be seen lying on the concrete, her rumpled hair blowing in the breeze, desperately in need of a bath. Poor thing is a mess. Today I discovered that she also likes curling into an unused planter box. Because she's a dirt-gray color, she blends perfectly with the weathered wood and leftover soil.

Photo of the day: Reach for the Sky

A newly-pruned tree sticks its hands up like it's being held up in an old western.

Go Giants!

I took Husband to a Giants game today as a surprise. And I splurged on, as you can see, fabulous seats. Club box, section 207, Row D, seats 1 and 2. When we win the lottery these will be our season's tickets. Best seats I've ever had at a game.

Photo of the day: Independence Day

Happy Fortha July. What are you doing to celebrate? A picnic followed by fireworks? A BBQ with friends? Husband and I are being very American and going to a baseball game where we shall eat hot dogs and watch the Giants. A beautiful day in the sunshine at the most gorgeous ballpark in the US. I will, of course, be dressed like Betsy Ross.

Stream of Unconsciousness
I'm going through a pretty severe insomnia phase and, of course, I'm all out of Ambien. Thanks to the wonders of mail-order pharmacies and tight-fisted insurance companies they won't even begin to process my refill until the 15th. Give it another week for processing and shipping and I'm looking at three more weeks of no sleep. I'm getting about 3 or 4 hours a night, so it's not a total loss. But it's not enough and it's catching up to me.

I'm getting into that phase where the sillies take over. Everything is vaguely hilarious. I feel almost drunk because I'm so goofy and, occasionally, light headed. I kind of like it. Like getting high without all that nasty breaking the law crap. It's actually quite fun, in a completely unhealthy, entirely dysfunctional way. I smile a lot. I'm giddy. God help us, I sing. Today I found myself in the middle of kitten duty singing the theme to "The Muppet Show" to a kitten, only to look up and see the other volunteers staring at me in bemused horror and moving their chairs back ever so slightly. Luckily the kittens didn't seem to mind it. But that self-censoring chip, never very effective in my case anyway, is practically non-existent. Poor Husband. There's no telling what I might do if he takes me out in public this weekend. (Which he will...Giants game on the 4th. Yay!) I don't mean I'm going to rip my shirt off and yell "Do me, Lincecum!" Because, well, eww. But I do tend to say things without thinking even when I do get enough sleep.

Hell, when he introduced me to his boss a few months ago the first thing I said to him was "Hi, do I have to kiss your ass?" I mean what kind of woman says that to her husband's boss? Oh yeah, me.

I don't know how he puts up with me.

Photo of the day: The Music Office

Not ours, but the one at the radio station. It's about the size of a small bathroom and decorated mostly in stickers from bands and labels around the world. Highly colorful chaos, really. It can only hold one person comfortably. Two if you don't mind having to move out of the way a lot. Three and the walls start to close in and the air gets sucked out of the room. But we love it.

Photo of the day: Bayside

Sometimes you need to appreciate a photo not for its quality, nor even its subject, but what it represents. This represents, to me, what's best about a summer day in the Bay Area. Blue sky. Birds on the bay. Seeing the east bay hills from the peninsula. And, just to the right of where I focused, one tiny sailboat out for a day on the bay. It was clear and warm. The path was full of people walking dogs, runners dripping sweat, and little kids tossing bits of stale bread to the ducks. And this is why I love where I live.

Photo of the day: Abstract in Concrete and Rust

I have no wish to analyze what draws my photographer's eye to things like broken fences and rusty gates. But I'm odd that way. Faced with a beautiful landscape or a falling-down barn, I tend to go to the barn. In my photographic history I've photographed doorknobs when others were shooting garden shots, and captured dented bumpers while the rest of the crows was looking at a dramatic sunset.

This particular shot looks to me like some weird abstract sculptural piece that would cost $75,000 and stand on a platform in your local MOMA and make people spout twaddle like "existential" and "the formless void."

But really, it's a piece of rusty metal sitting on a broken concrete slab.

Well Crap
A federal advisory panel has recommended a ban on Vicodin and Percocet. Oh goodie. The ban was suggested because of possible liver damage due to these drugs containing Acetaminophen. According to the NYT article, more than 400 people die every year from overdoses. So Tylenol, which is the acetaminophen king, can still be bought over-the-counter and taken indiscriminately. But Vicodin, frequently used to treat chronic pain (like mine) will be banned. So not happy.

Whatever happened to personal responsibility? Yes, I know you can overdose from this. That's why I always take a half a pill first and only take the second half of the Vicodin if I'm still in pain. I've been doing this for years and haven't developed an addiction or a liver problem. I know this because my doctor, who prescribes the Vicodin, insists on a complete liver screening every six months. And while I'm sorry for the 400 people who overdose, what about the millions of us who haven't and aren't likely to? We are to be denied a proven painkiller that we take responsibly because some idiot takes a Vicodin and washes it down with 20 Tylenol? When pain is a daily part of your life, you learn to live with it. But it helps to have something like Vicodin for those days where you hurt so bad you can barely get out of bed. These drugs already require a prescription, which comes with thorough warnings about addiction, side-effects, and dangerous drug interactions. But apparently I'm too stupid to take care of myself and need the government to spare my from my own idiocy and deny me a drug that helps make my life possible. It seems like a very tiny number of people who take Vicodin or Percocet end up in the ER but we're all being penalized. I find it unfair and ridiculous. We're grown ups here, folks, let us talk to our doctors and take our own risks.

The Music Instinct
Husband and I are halfway through a fascinating PBS program called The Music Instinct: Science & Song. It's a fascinating look at how our brains respond to music. What is genetic and what is inherited?

As a world music DJ, I was especially intrigued at the role that culture plays in our musical life. There was a wonderful singer from Pakistan, I believe, and another from Tibet. They discussed how Asian music has a different tonal scale than Western music and, because of this, often sounds "out of tune" to Western ears. I was also fascinated by them playing piano music to villagers in Cameroon who had no previous exposure to European classical music before and how they responded emotionally to the tunes by categorizing each piece as "happy," "sad," or "scary." If you have a chance to check it out, I highly recommend it.

I'm hoping they get to why people respond to different styles of music. Why do I love world music but hate death metal? Why does Husband play jazz and not hip-hop? My siblings and I have very different tastes in music and yet we all grew up with the same records on our parents stereo. So why do I turn to Django Reinhardt and my sister to the Rolling Stones?

Photos of the day: Excessive Cuteness

Because sometimes you just have to go with the adorable kitten shot.

Photo of the day: Shadow Play

Photo of the day: Set in Stone

My sprained ankle has put on hold my plans for a photo safari day so I'm making due with a shot from one of my cemetery sweeps.

Photo of the day: Why?

Why do I take so many photos of flowers? I don't like flowers. This one doesn't give me the screaming mimis though, and I like the color.

Gimpy
So I had a bit of an accident yesterday involving a runaway kitten and a hard concrete floor. The result is a swollen knee, a sore back, and a sprained ankle. It's nothing serious, and I'll be fine in a few days, but it brings to the forefront one of the things about me that drives Husband crazy: I'm a lousy patient.

I'm just not good at being sick or injured. I insist on doing all the things I normally do, even though I may be in pain or may feel like death on toast. I'll still try to carry a full laundry basket or make dinner. I'll insist on getting up to get my own glass of water, even though Husband has kindly offered to get one for me. I'm just, generally stubborn.

Many years ago when my best friend Steve was dealing with the first stages of being HIV+ he asked me what I thought he'd be like when he was dying. I told him that I think when people die they act like they do when they have the flu, multiplied by a million. I told him he was pretty pathetic when sick so when he was in the final stages he'd probably drive me crazy. (As it turns out, I was wrong.) And he told me that if my theory was true when it came to be my time I would get up and turn off my own life-support system. He's probably right. I'll insist on doing it myself. "No, don't bother yourself, I can hit the off switch."

I try to be good, honest. I admitted defeat and did not go to cat duty today, the first day I've ever missed. But since it hurts to walk and since I'm using a cane, I figured it would just be stupid to try and carry 18-pound cats around. But I was dressed and ready to go with my keys in my hand before I gave in. And while I did spend most of the day with my leg up and ice on my knee and ankle, I did put some laundry in the washer and put dinner in the oven.

But I have to admit, I'm a gimp. My ankle is definitely sprained (it's happened too many times to the same ankle to mistake it) and I am going to have to be a lazy slug this weekend if I want to make kitten duty on Monday. But I also know that at some point tomorrow Husband is going to look at me and say "what are you doing" as I try to clean the bathroom or sweep the kitchen floor.

Photo of the day: Beer by the Bay

There's a picnic table right on the bay where a lot of causal fishermen hang out. They no doubt swap fishing stories and share a Corona or two. I just wish they could hit the garbage can with their leftovers. I picked this up after I took the shot.

Jerks
We're surrounded by them. The guy who drives 95 on the freeway, cutting in and out of traffic and being only a few seconds away from being a statistic. The woman who parks her shopping cart in the middle of the grocery store aisle so that you can't get by on either side. The commenter on your favorite blog who always misses the point. The parents who let their horrible demon-spawn children run around like banshees and then get upset at you when little Boris runs into your parked car and lets out with an ear-shattering shriek (True story. The father asked to see my insurance info. What I showed him was my finger.)

I have serious pet peeves, all of them caused by jerks. I hate people who don't use their turn signals, people who talk too loudly on their cell phones (although it does make for great eavesdropping), people who chew with their mouth open, and people who preach loudly about their close, personal relationship with God and yet seem to know nothing of compassion, tolerance, and love. These people are all jerks.

And since it's 3 am, I'm wide awake and facing another sleepless night and I've got my cranky pants on, I'm going to give you my "this makes you a jerk list."

- being rude to waiters, store clerks, or anyone else without a 401(k) and a Porsche
- thinking we're freaks that we consider our cat to be part of our family
- people who don't give their money or their time to charities
- littering
- idiots who won't make way for a car with their turn signal on that is obviously trying to get over one lane to make the next exit
- overpaid, overprivileged white guys trying to act like rappers
- thinking music is crap just because it's popular. Yeah, OK, a lot of it is. But there are a lot of mega-music-stars who can still deliver a few good songs. I hate it when people get so hung up on being hip that they don't care about what's good. Trust me Elvis Costello will always be better than 99% of indie-feminist-breakup-crap produced from some record label that's run out of the back of a printing shop.
- signing up to be on a reality TV show and then whining about how hard it is to live in the public eye
- hypocrisy
- dismissing a critic's opinion because you think he or she just "didn't get it." It's an opinion, not a true or false test.
- putting so much emphasis on getting married that you don't think about what it will mean to actually be married
- denying equal rights to those you don't agree with.
- thinking you can write when you've never tried. Do you think you can play the piano without a lesson?
- being oblivious to others. You can't wait an extra 10 seconds and hold the door for the woman pushing the stroller?
- not being grateful. If I hold the door for the woman with the stroller, she'd better say thank you.
- being a teenager and moseying across the street like a 95-year old retiree in Boca Raton with a walker and a bad hip replacement. Great, seven cars stopped at the intersection waiting for you to cross and you do it like you're running in slow motion from Chariots of Fire
- talking during the movie
- dropping your allegiance to a sports team when they're losing or it's no longer hip to go to the games. Hey. either you're a fan or not.
- making endless lists of pet peeves just because you're tired and cranky

And Now, In the What Were They Thinking Department
OK, what genius thought this would be a good idea for children?

Photo of the day: 3:17 am

I didn't get any sleep last night. I finally caught 3 hours this morning and now I'm facing another sleepless night. I took this photo at 3:17 am for no apparent reason. But I like it anyway.

Watch Out, Red Cats
Cats at the shelter are broken down into two categories: red cats and green cats. (OK, yes, they're also broken down into male and female. But that's not the point, is it?) Red cats are the ones that have behavior problems. Too aggressive. Too shy. Too aloof. They'll take a swipe at you if you go near them or cower under a towel non-stop. Or you take them into a room and they just ignore you. It's hard to find homes for cats that act like evil assassins (as opposed to the kind ones), dysfunctional loners, or teen-agers.

You need special training to become a red cat volunteer and tomorrow I'll meet up with one of the animal behaviorists and learn how to deal with problem cats. I love the idea of helping the most-in-need kitties with their behavior problems so that they can go to a good home. But I'm a bit uncertain as to whether or not I'll be any good at it. It takes tons of patience (not my best quality) and a genuine love for animals (OK, that I have). What I find the sticking point for me is that when you work with these cats you might not get the usual paycheck you get from working with the green cats -- purrs, a ball of love in the lap, a hand lick. You're more likely to come away with scratches than a shirt covered in cat fur from too much cuddling and too much shedding. (I swear there are some cats that shed little whirlwinds of fur when you just look at them.)

So far the cats I've worked with have given me far more than I've given them. I feel incredibly lucky to be able to play with them, comb them, and have them cozy into my lap. But these new cats will probably not be as generous. I may spend 30 minutes of love, patience, and attention and be rewarded with a bloody hand. So will I still love this when I'm not spending time with non-stop cute? Some of the green cats can be unpredictable and I've had my share of scrapes and difficult kitties who didn't want to leave the kennel or wanted nothing to do with me once they got into the room. So maybe I've already had my trial by fire. I just worry that I'm not good enough to give these problem children what they need.

I'm am looking forward to my next step as a TLC volunteer and am happy that they think I'm ready for it. I'll still work with the green cats, so I don't need to give up on my favorites. But this way I'll be cleared to work with every cat up for adoption, which is a very cool thing.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love this? I swear I've found my calling. Too bad it doesn't pay. I'm going to mourn when I have to go back to work and give up my furry children.

Photo of the day: My Favorite Flower

I know most people consider it a weed. But I've always been rather fond of dandelions. I suppose to call it my favorite might not be entirely true, but since I have this freaky, well, thing where most flowers give me the heebie-jeebies, this is one of the few that doesn't make me want to go all peculiar. There's something admirable about their persistence and their insistent cheeriness. If dandelions were a person, they'd drive me crazy. But in a plant like this (that doesn't make me go all peculiar) it's kind of nice. There's a huge lawn near the shelter with dandelions growing wild all over it and I think it's so pretty, all those yellow dots in the sea of green.

I bought a new camera bag today so now I can carry my new lens with me. Now I have no excuse not to go out and shoot.

Photo of the day: Reunion #14

What happens when the ennui of contemporary man overflows the psyche. Rather than a pastiche of form it is, rather, a conscious deconstruction of structure. Cheeky and yet articulately tragic with an inherent truth than can be denied, but never ignored.

Photo of the day: Spiderweb and Goo

I like spiderwebs. Odd, as I'm not real fond of spiders. (Sorry, PETA, I kill bugs.) But I love how intricate webs can be. I think they're really quite beautiful in a way. This one....not so much. It's done its job too well and has trapped every bit of spew and goo that's come its way. Bits of plant life. Bits of....well, just bits. But it's still one of those marvels of nature. Like, say, Hugh Jackman.

Catching Up
Oh, what did insomniacs do before the internet? Here I am, wide awake at nearly 4 after having had only 30-minutes sleep. So, to share the love, I'm sharing the links.

For my fellow grammarians. I give you the unnecessary quotes blog.

For appreciators of how weird people are, check out passive aggressive notes.

And for sheet WTF-ness, you suck at Craigslist will provide you with random glimpses of our surreal world.

Enjoy, possums.

Our Backyard Buffet
The kibble we feed Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) was recalled due to a manufacturer error that put in the wrong balance of nutrients. Until they start selling it again, we've tried to feed her something else. One brand she wouldn't go near. Rather than toss out a back of perfectly good cat food, I decided to put out a few piles for the feral cats that frequent our backyard. It was a huge hit.

This is Orange Cat 1 nibbling away while, in the background, Plaid Cat waits her turn.

Orange Cat 2 (note the difference in tails between the two orange cats, one long hair one short, that's how we finally figured out there were two) chowing down in the side yard. I later saw him at the pile in the front yard, along with a Siamese-colored cat who ran away when she saw me watching from the front window.

Plaid Cat at a table for one. Soon after she left, Mama Cat came buy for the no-plate special.

In all I counted six different cats enjoying our hospitality. I don't want them to come to rely on food here, although I'm not sure why...they're already here all day anyway. And I'm wondering if it might help us trap them and get them spayed or neutered (I'm still trying to figure out how to fit a cat trap into the back of a Honda Civic.) But it's a good way to get rid of the food that is, apparently, not good enough for Queen Cipher. They seemed to love it. And, I have to confess, I feel less concerned about them knowing they all had a good meal today.

Photo of the day: Prickly

From our front yard. One of the few things I photographed today that wasn't a cat.

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.)

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.

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.

Photo of the day: The Judas Hole

I'll go out this weekend and take tons of new, beautiful photos with my new, beautiful lens. But for now, I've had 5 hours sleep in the past two days so you get a picture of the inside of my door. Fun!

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.

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.

Photo of the day: Pidge, Part Deux

I know I just did a pigeon the other day, but I took shitload of pigeon pictures so you have to suffer through another.

Photo of the day: Locked Out

Actually I guess it should be "locked up" as this was securing a picnic table and benches together. But what the hell, it's an interesting shot.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Photo of the day: Liar, Liar, House on Fire

Playing with fire effects again. Don't tell my brother the fire chief.

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.)

Photo of the day: Playing Around

Now that I've recovered the completely incomprehensible manual for the camera I'm hoping to learn how to use it to take better photos. This is not one of them, but it's an accident that I found pleasing.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Photo of the day: Souvenir of Carmel

I love Native American pottery but, alas, cannot afford it. But we found a shop in Carmel a few years ago that had mini pots that didn't require selling the car in order to purchase. This is my favorite.

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.

Photo of the day: Don't Cook Tonight Get Donut Delite

A bit late for National Donut Day earlier the week.

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.

Photo of the day: Insert Here

Give me all your money. Please?

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.

Photo of the day: Ground Control to Major Tom

If Major Tom was hoping KZSU would track his signal, he was sorely disappointed.

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.

Photos of the day: At the Carwash

Yeah, that's right, I'm a tacky 70's hit.

But then again, at least I'm clean.

Well, my car is anyway...

Photo of the day: Nude at a Picnic

I'm through with representational painting.

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!)

Photo of the day: I've Waited 80 Years for this Martini

I ordered it back when I was a slip of a girl in a flapper dress, dancing the Charleston with Binky Foxerton. I wonder whatever happened to old Binky?

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.

Permission
Wonderful advertisement in favor of marriage equality.

Photo of the day: Impression: Smear

This is what a camera sees right before a kitten licks it. Tongue courtesy of Daphne.

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.

Photo of the day: Drawers

Everything is labeled so nicely. You know exactly what size to put where. Now if only you knew what "they" were.

Photo of the day: Organization

There's something vaguely pleasing about this. Don't ask me what or why. I won't answer.