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

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

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

Thanks everyone, it was fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good can come of this.

What makes home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what are your guilty pleasures?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Keep building!
We live down the street from the Winchester Mystery House. OK, not the real one, but there is a house up the block that seems to be in a perpetual state of construction.

Over a year ago they tore down everything but the garage and started from scratch. It went slowly at first...but gradually a house appeared. Then things just got out of hand. Let's just say the word "moderation" is not in the vocabulary of these people. It's as if they decided to throw into/onto/near this house every since feature they could think of.

It started with brick facing. OK, nice enough I guess. And attractive in the garden terrace out in front of the house. But then they kept going. Higher walls. Facing on the house. More facing on the house. Oh yes, and a few more on the house. It now looks wildly out of place as brick is not normally used on houses in an earthquake zone. So all of a sudden in this steet full of 19050's stucco tract homes you this brick thing with walls of brick and columns of brick and facing of brick and brick lamp posts.

Then they moved to wood. A fence. OK fine, but then the fence kept going hire. Screens. Grills. A gate suitable for public park. And, god help us, a gazebo.

About 6 months ago this house looked fine. And now every time I drive by I laugh because it just keeps getting worse and worse.

What Ever Happened to Good Behavior?
In a not-at-all groundbreaking poll a majority of Americans have decided that movie stars make bad role models. To which I can only reply "duh!"

In semi-related news the so-called "runaway bride" just sold her story for a cool $1 million.

So what ever happened to good behavior? When did we start rewarding bad behavior and ignoring the good stuff?

Who decided that Tom Cruise would make a good role model anyway? Or Brad Pitt? Or, god help us, Terrell Owens?

Role models should not be people who get paid $80 million for fun and easy work. And people who intentionally lie and cause distress to hundreds of people should not be rewarded for their actions.

Role models should be people who do good in the world. People you've never heard of who work in refugee camps and AIDS hospitals in Africa. People who sit down every week and write checks to the causes that are close to their heart (provided those causes don't include the KKK). Role models are people who turn their back on the high tech dollar in order to teach high school, or who become cops because they truly like to help people.

I'm so tired of the glorification of those who deserve only to be ignored. Why does the "finger in the chili" lady deserve front-page coverage across the Nation, but the "low income lady who saves all year to provide Christmas gifts for the poor kids in the neighborhood" gets lost. Why is there an entire culture addicted to "reality TV" which does nothing but reward backstabbing and game-playing, and yet so few people willing to volunteer their time at soup kitchens and afterschool programs?

Our priorities are seriously screwed up, folks.

2, Two, Too!
Today marks our 2nd anniversary as married people. Two years ago today my sweetie and I, and two of our dearest friends, went to an incredibly tacky wedding chapel in Lake Tahoe and got married under the watchful gaze of about a dozen plastic garden animals. The ceremony was followed by the traditional post-wedding margaritas and a trek to the top of Heavenly Mountain.

I never thought I'd get married once, let alone twice. And after the first time, I said "never again." But you see...I met this guy. And I have to admit, he's pretty damned wonderful. In addition to being brilliant and talented, sweet and funny, generous and kind, and altogether great, he's also persistent. And patient. And braver than hell for wanting to take me on.

I don't know how I got so lucky.

No more sleepovers!
So Michael Jackson was found not guilty. Hmmmm....forgive me for being dubious. I mean I don't know if he's guilty as charged, but I do think he's guilty of being incredibly freaky. And what's with his legions of devoted fans talking about how sweet he is and all he's done for the children of the world.

You want to help children? Great. Invite them to your odd estate and let them play with your chimp and ride your carousel. Throw parties for underpriviledged childdren. Give money to children's hospitals and AIDS orphans. But, and this is key, don't sleep with them!

Normal men do NOT routinely have sleepovers for 12-year old boys. They don't think pajama parties are a great way to relax after a hard day of denying you've ever had plastic surgery.

I know there are a lot of people who love this man (I have no idea why!), and I know he was found innocent. But good heavens, I think there's a lot of evidence to provve he's just plain weird. And not "good" weird, but weird in a "he gives me the creeps" kind of way.

Oh no, TO!
Even if you're not a Philadelphia Eagles fan, you've got to hand it to the nerve of Terrell Owens. The poor man just can't make it on the $49 million over 7-year contract he signed only last year. In his own words he has to "feed his family" and needs more money. Just how big is his family and how much do they eat? Is he related to Zambia? Great ESPN article about how he's pissing off lots of people.

Wanna destroy the earth?
Sam's practical advice for doing so. Useful for Bond villians anyone fed up with life in general.

Sounds of Africa
Being a world music DJ, most of the music I listen to for pleasure comes from outside of the US. I am particuarly fond of Arican music. There are some truly amazing artists from there. Henri Dikongue, Oliver Mtukudzi, Angelique Kidjo, Wasis Diop, and...oh....about a hundred others. (Femi Kuti, Cool Crooners of Buluwayo, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Zap Mama, Youssou N'Dour...etc.

Anyway, the wonderful folks at the BBC have come up with a fine Echoes of Africa section to introduce you to the basics of African sounds. If you want to know more about world music, especially if you're looking for suggestions, check out their broader world music section.