Photo of the day: Fish sink

Yeah, it's a fish sink. By the bay. Looks far more scenic than a fish sink, doesn't it? Today was a beautiful day in Northern California and I stopped by the bay on my way to cat duty. The bay was gorgeous, but I was struck by the fish sink. Go figure...

To sleep. Perhance not to sleep
I've been an insomniac all my life. Even as a child I'd lie awake half the night, waiting to fall asleep. I shared a room with my two sisters and I'd listen to them breathe (or snore) while playing little mind games to get myself through the night. I'd doze off and on and was OK living life on 3 or 4 hours sleep a night.

I'm still an insomniac. Only it's harder and harder to get by on so little sleep. And so, after a lifetime of yawning and dragging my way through the day, I've given in to sleeping pills. And I cannot tell you what a revelation it is.

I've tried everything. Cutting out caffeine. Hot milk. Warm baths. Holistic herbs and meditation. But nothing as ever worked. Now the little Ambien-wonderpill has made me fall asleep and I love it.

Friends, don't worry. I'm not an addict. I take maybe 2 or 3 a week, but those 2 or 3 nights have made a world of difference. I fall asleep, for the first time in my life, within 30 minutes. I sleep deeply (until the cat wakes me up at 3 am) but then I actually fall back asleep again fairly quickly. Again, for the first time in my life.

Without the pills it takes me anywhere from 90 minutes to 3 hours to fall asleep and then it's only for an hour or two at a time. I'll wake up, be wide awake for an hour or so and then drift off again for another few hours. This is honestly the very first time in my life when I'm getting continuous, quality sleep and I'm amazed at how it makes me feel. I have more energy. My back hurts less because I'm not tossing and turning and my muscles can actually relax for a bit. And it's easier to get things accomplished during the day because I'm not dragging my tired ass around.

On the nights, like tonight, when I'm not taking a pill I'll do my best to fall asleep naturally. But I know from 40+years of experience that it'll be a lost cause. I'll curl up in the darkness and try to shut my mind off. I'll do my best to relax. And two hours later I'll give up and watch a movie until I can't keep my eyes open (by which time the cat will be awake). But just knowing that in a night or two I'll be able to catch up on my sleep has made me much happier and makes the white nights easier to bear.

And, for those of you who are asleep, I wish you sweet dreams. I'll be having my own on Friday.

Photos of the day: Swirls



Oh the fun you can have with a camera, a glass of water, and a box of food coloring.

Photo of the day: Blue

Last week it was yellow. This week it's water but today it's also blue. From the fountain in front of Memorial Auditorium at Stanford.

The Album
In the crowded antique store, next a hideous lamp featuring a coy shepherdess casting a longing glance at a long-misplaced shepherd, I found the album. The cover was battered maroon leather with “Our Photographs” lettered in flaking gold leaf, the final “s” just a smear of color after an “h” missing its neck.

The pages were thick and black; corners felt-softened through the years. Inside was a parade of black and white faces secured in place with black cardboard triangles. Weddings. Vacation trips. A graduation. But mostly just snapshots of people captured for no special reason except to save their faces. A few of the pages had captions written in silver ink, someone identifying individuals for ancestors who apparently didn’t care enough to save the book.

“Edgar and Tommy at the Lake” showed two young men mugging for the camera. Twenties’ style bathing suits looking laughable to modern eyes. The blur of a running dog suggesting movement denied to the forever-young faces, caught for posterity in exaggerated poses of the circus strongman. In the background the unnamed lake glistened flat and still like a Sears portrait studio backdrop.

“Janie, Mirella, and the Quigley’s, Logan Street” was written under a photo of children standing in front of a white house, the shade of some unseen tree rendering half the group in shadow while the others squinted into the distance.

The photo I liked the best had no caption. It depicted a young woman with a preposterously large had seated proudly in the driving seat of an immense dark car. Beneath the hat was an oddly modern-looking face. She looked more like a contemporary woman in her grandmother’s clothes than a woman of her day. Put her in jeans and a sweatshirt and she’d fit in at The Gap. But here she was an early daredevil with a Ford. I wondered where she was going, or where she had come from. Did she know Edgar and Tommy and Janie or was she another branch of the family?

Towards the end of the album there were blank pages waiting to be filled on, and one snapshot tucked in between pages, not stuck down. It was a crooked picture, slightly out of focus, of a couple sitting on a rock. Even with the bad photography it was easy to see that he looked at her like she was the sun and the moon. She was gazing towards the camera, past the photographer, at something that made her laugh. There was something about them that told me they were in love.

I turned to the inside front cover. $15.00 it said in faint pencil on a white label. Little enough for someone’s memories, I thought, and tucked the book under my arm.

Photo of the day: In the gutter

We had a lovely storm this weekend. Much needed rain fell pretty much all day yesterday and there's more threatened today. This week's theme is "water." It seems appropriate for this stormy Monday.

Crosswords
Rectangular newspapers overflow round tables, but the large cup of coffee anchored it securely.

15 Across: Like Shakespeare's Ariel

The muted sounds of bad light jazz (is there such a thing as good light jazz) played over the coffee house's sound system as the man with the studiously artistic hair worked the puzzle.

9 Down: Chile capitol

In between thinking, drinking, and checking out the legs of the redhead sitting under the reproduction Toulouse Lautrec, he clicked the pen in a habit that would have been annoying, had anyone been close enough to hear him.

23 Down: Terminal stiffening of sinews (two words)

Across the room a couple with matching laptops and expressions of boredom ignored each other. She tapping her foot to something other than the jazz. He casting surreptitious glances at that redhead.

33 Across: Guess Who's _____ _____ Dinner?

Behind the counter the girl with the nametag that read "Oslo" filled a glass jar with Madelines and counted the hours until she could get back to the latest Nora Roberts. Her co-worker, who had no nametag, expertly poured foam and wondered where the readhead got the shoes.

51 Down: Chandler's Philip

Under the poster the redhead wondered why she bothered coming to the place anymore. It was always filled with losers doing the damned crossword puzzle.

Photo of the day: Jazz is yellow

The final picture in my "yellow" series was taken at KZSU, where jazz is yellow. (For the record, blues is blue, world is orange, reggae is pink, and country is red).

Photo of the day: White in Yellow

Ah, Valentine's Day. Cards and chocolates. Roses and dinner reservations. And, of course, wine. Luckily for my "yellow" theme this particular vintage is clothed in the appropriate color.

Road Trip
The smell of the first rain on hot sage in the desert. Coming down the long sweep of the mountain to that sleepy 4-way stop at the bottom, roads stretching endlessly flat in three directions. Empty roads. On the radio Patsy Cline was going Crazy and I had the windows rolled down, drinking in the scents and feeling thunder echo around me. Jackrabbits in the distance, flashing impossibly long ears in and out between the manzanita. Patsy gave way to Johnny Cash. Johnny to Elvis. Elvis to Willie.

The rain came harder now. Falling in fat drops, crying dust tears down the windshield. In the slate-colored sky lightning frescoed brilliantly and was gone. In its absence the sky flattened and smoothed itself into a sheet of gray velvet. One solid sheet, no clouds, no definition.

Left, right, or straight? Signposts hinted at options but gave no answers. And the absence of cars gave me time.

I could see trees and the beginning of a town to the left. Ahead, nothing but a long stretch of pavement. To the right, more flat -- but a road ribboned out in a more interesting fashion, hints of curves hidden and discovered by the landscape.

Willie faded away and Hank began to berate Your Cheatin' Heart. I smiled and turned right.

Cat of the week: Ob-La-Di
My choice for cat of the week was extra hard this time around. In fact, it was a three-way tie between Mann (a polydactyl orange with a sweet personality), Kitty (a 10-year old sweetheart who's a perfect lap cat), and this guy. Ob-La-Di won because he has the sweetest, loudest purr of any cat I've ever met. Seriously, you can hear this cat purr in the next county.

Actually, Ob-La-Di (ID#434606) was going to be my CoTW when he first came in a few months ago, his photo wasn't available yet. He came in with his brother who was adopted in December. This guy is truly one of those "why hasn't be been adopted yet? This doesn't make sense!" cases. Ob-La- Di (or Obi, as I call him) is a perfect kitty. He's a bit shy at first but after a few minutes came into my lap (which he generously shared with another cat). Once there he purred non-stop, snuggled against me, bumped noses, licked my hand, and generally charmed me entirely. He's a sweet, gentle, loving little guy who just needs a good home. I cannot understand why he hasn't been scooped up. He's a charmer.

He's only 10 months old so he still has a lot of kitten energy and he obviously has a heart larger than his sleek little body would suggest. You can find out more at the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA website.

Photo of the day: The Yellow Aisle

Now that I'm carrying a camera with me everywhere I'm always looking for things to photograph. With yellow as this week's theme, I was amused to turn down the canned fruit and veggies aisle and notice entire shelves of yellow. Apparently they stack the corn next to the pineapple. Add to that their yellow "on sale" signs and it's a whole row of yellow. Too bad I'm allergic to pineapple.

Photo of the day: Qwack

Ah, the long-suffering rubber ducky. Heralded in song and story. Well, song, anyway. (Thank you Ernie.) Ours sits by the tub and has never actually joined either of us in a bath. But it taunts the cat who glowers at it from across a watery expanse. Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) wants the duck but just can't figure out how to get it without getting wet (something to be avoided at all costs). Thankfully it has never occurred to her to try for it when the tub is empty. It's as if it doesn't exist then. Perhaps she thinks the water brings it when it pours into the tub and once that's happened, it's all over, the Red Sea has been flooded again. But one day I know I'll come home and find this guy lying in the hallway, tiny bite marks marring his happy little bill.

Stella Mare
Years ago I knew a woman named Stella. She was big and brassy and spoke like a Joan Blondell character in a pre-Code film, only with a Polish accent. Stella was what is known in literature as "a character." I met her when I was Assistant Manager at a bookstore. Stella loved three things, her husband, Leo; her family; and romance novels. She would purchase all the series romances every month. Once I got to know her, I would put together a box with all the latest ones and she would always ask for me when she came in. Over time we got to be friends.

Occasionally Stella would join me on my break and we'd have coffee in the food court and she'd tell me about her latest adventures. She had a lot of them. At the time she was in her late 60s and was always doing wild and fun things. She tried surfing, scuba diving, karate and even roller blading. On the safer side she also took up yoga, Ikebana, and French cooking. She also told hilarious dirty jokes. I wish I could remember them, but I do remember hooting with rude laugher in front of the frozen yogurt shop.

Stella was a Holocaust survivor. She never talked about her time in the camp except once, in an offhanded way, as if it were no more a part of her life story than the guitar lessons she took for six months or the Vespa scooter she wanted for her birthday. I always wondered if her lust for life was due to her experiences with the Nazis. Perhaps losing her family and suffering so much herself made her appreciate life more; maybe feel the need to try everything so as to live life to the full.

I never asked her, though. There was always a "No Trespassing" sign around that time of her life. The fact that everything else was fair game made this silence all the more obvious. She told me about her sex life (great), her beloved dogs (the "angeldevils"), and about her sons, daughters-in-law and grandkids. But she never told me about her life before she came to the US.

Stella and Leo loved to travel and once she "adopted" you, you were bound to get some wonderfully tacky souvenir from her vacation. She brought me a snow globe from Hawaii, a dried pinto bean Rosary from Mexico, and a "can of flattened armadillo" from Texas. I gave her a hideous Halloween sweatshirt with a glow-in-the-dark pumpkin on it and she wore in in April. She also baked wonderful sugar cookies with little flowers stamped in them. They would literally melt in your mouth and whenever she came into the store with a batch work would pretty much stop while we all moaned in ecstasy.

A few years into our friendship, Stella and Leo moved to Phoenix to be closer to two of their sons and their families. I was happy for her, but sad to lose her from my life. We stayed in touch with cards and letters at first, but it was one of those friendships that was destined to fade from lack of face-to-face contact. She was, briefly, one of those "adopted family members" that come into my life now and then...given to me by fate to compensate for the emotional distance of my "real" family. She was an honorary grandmother for a while and then moved on. I have no doubt she adopted some other lucky people in her new home, bringing them cookies from her kitchen and ashtrays from Miami. I wish I knew what happened to her, I hope she's still alive, still happy. Maybe studying pottery or learning how to snowboard.

Stella, wherever you are, I hope you're doing well. Thanks for the memories. And I wish I could remember that joke about the nun and the cowboy.

Photo of the day: To be Read

They sit there. Those National Geographics. Silently mocking you with your lack of initiative as you grab for the remote control to watch something you could well do without. Meanwhile, the stack grows and, with it, your sense of guilt. I'm four months behind, you tell yourself as you look at the famous yellow-bordered covers. And you know if you pick it up you'll find out about mice and Mesopotamia. Tree shrews and Tunisia. The Amazon rainforest and life in the mountains of Chile. But still you turn away. One day, you say to yourself. But does that day ever come? Or do you have a shelf life on your magazines? Nothing older than six months? A year? Until your rack fills up? I know they're supposed to be a joy and yet, sometimes, don't you feel weighed down by all those magazines silently mocking you from the floor?

Photo of the day: Weeds

Day two of the yellow theme and I'm thanking the weed gods. While wandering around the neighborhood yesterday I noticed an unsurprising mid-winter absence of flowers. And an equally unsurprising abundance of weeds. This is one of my very own weeds. Yup, didn't need to trespass on anybody's lawn for this one. Just went out for the morning paper and there it was.

Photo of the day: 10

Well, since a fire hydrant inspired this week's "yellow" theme, what better way to start? I wandered up the street taking pictures of all things yellow, earning a few odd looks and one chatty woman asking me what I was doing, did I know anything about computers, how to copy music onto a CD, and had I ever been to Iceland?

Yellow. But not mellow.
I was talking to Husband about my idea of doing a theme week for my photo of the day. He thought it was a great idea.

Then I made the mistake of asking if he had a theme idea. The problem was, we were driving past a bright yellow fire hydrant at the time. His suggestion was, of course, "yellow"

Could you pick a more difficult color?

I've gone through my photos and I have nothing (NOTHING!) yellow in my album. So I have some shooting to do. (Yay!) I love a good challenge. So stay tuned, tomorrow....the first in a week-long series of yellow.

Photo of the day : Hardware

I ilke door hardware. The solid feel of an old doorknob in your hand. Not entirely round, but heavy and solid. A piece of ironmongery to be looked upon with approval.

Photo of the day: Ladybug, Ladybug

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I would really like to take that back.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo of the day: Pod People

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo of the day: Bricks and Web

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

Photo of the day: Kilmer's Ode

Sometimes you need a reminder to look up.

In praise of the good guy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Photo of the day: Stripes

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

Photo of the day: Tuning

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

Photo of the day: Fridge as Gallery

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

Photo of the day: Green on Green

We've had this bamboo plant for several years now and I haven't managed to kill it. In fact, it's thriving. Go figure...

Cat of the Week: Tahoe
My favorite lake is this week's favorite cat. Tahoe is a 7-year old male shorthair with a beautiful white coat. (Like Tahoe in the winter.) He's a total charmer that loves to be petted and is the terror of any hapless pipe cleaner to comes into his orbit. Tahoe (ID# A443029) gets along well with other cats and is friendly, affectionate, outgoing, and a total charmer. If you're interested, visit the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA website.

Cat of the Week Update: Brodi (my CoTW for Jan 16th) has been adopted. Also adopted another of my favorites, a sweetie named Pussinboots who roomed with Brodi in the same cat condo. But Clipper and Mr. Peabody, two handsome black kitties who I adore, are still around. People, step up and adopt one of these guys! Each is a total charmer who would make you a loving, wonderful companion.

Photo of the day: Jimi's Eye

There's a mural of Jimi Hendrix on the wall at KZSU. This is his eye. I felt incredibly old one time when some freshmen trainees asked me who that was and when I said "Jimi" they asked "Jimi who?" Sigh...pass me my cane.

Kits and Kids
I'm just back from cat duty. My regular shift is on Fridays, but I like to go in twice a week if I can. Certainly the cats need the attention. And I think I need it too.

Today there were two families with young children there and all of them were perfect examples of why most people should not have kids. Yelling. Screaming. (Oh, the screaming!) Running around. Putting their fingers in the cages to try to pet the cats after me asking them four times not to. Scaring the cats by banging on the cages. They were monsters. I asked the kids to be gentle and quiet around the cats. That didn't work. So I spoke to the parents. That didn't work either. So now we've got five kits running around like demons, making an incredible amount of noise, freaking out the kitties, and generally being hell.

I can't even begin to understand how hard it is to be a parent. But aren't you making it even harder on yourself by raising kids that nobody likes and that will, no doubt, grow up to be out-of-control? At the risk of sounding like an old fogey, I wouldn't have been allowed to behave like that. My parents, for all their faults, always made it clear what kind of behavior was acceptable. Acting like a spoiled brat was not allowed. So why are so many kids now allowed to be this obnoxious?

You see it every day. Kids having temper tantrums in restaurants. That ear-shattering screech that only children can achieve lingering in the aisles at the grocery store. Little whirlwinds running wild in public places without a parent to be seen.

One of the things I love about my friends is that those who are parents are good parents. Their kids have manners. They behave. They know right from wrong and are not allowed to be headache-inducing little demons from hell. So I'd like to thank my friends for being responsible parents.

As for me, no kids (ever!)(thankfully). But one hell of a headache.

Photo of the day: A Work in Progress

Following upon yesterday's photo is this one of the building that unearthed that valuable piece of archeological history. There's something about all those hard lines contrasting to the tree in front that I like.

Photo of the day: Archeology

They're constructing a new building on Memorial Way near KZSU. There are two consequences of this. The first is that there is NEVER anywhere to park now because it was already tight and they got rid of about 30 spaces near the station. The second is that the work as disturbed the landscape (OK, the overgrown ivy) along the way. As I was walking to the station to do my show last night, I spotted this bottle emerging from the dirt.

Patent medicine? Some opium-filled concoction consumed by the class of 1932? Nothing so glamorous, alas. It was one of those apple-shaped apple juice bottles from approximately 2002 AD. But it certainly looks like it had the potential to be something dramatic, doesn't it?

Sigh...now I'm sorry I pulled it out. I should have lived with the mystery.

Photo of the day: Deco-lite

What can I say? I like shapes.

Grammatical rant #157

Nobody every "does" anything anymore. No, they have a "journey." You don't hear "Grad school was hard but I'm glad I got my Masters." Instead it's "I'm happy I took the journey." People, the pilgrimage route from France to Spain was a journey. This is just an event.

I'm all for finding meaning in life and, yes, it's the little things that make you happy. But why, for the love of Santana, does everything have to be so dramatic? Not everything in life is earth-shaking, yet contemporary society treats a trip to the grocery store like it's The Odyssey. Everything is momentous, a bonding experience, a fucking journey.

When I was a kid I remember riding on the train up to San Francisco with my father. It's an OK memory, I suppose. But in the hands of someone with more pretense, and less self control, than I it would become an epic. "Unlike real life, the click-clack of the train was taking us straight somewhere. Me and the enigma that I called "father." It didn't matter where. What mattered was sitting by his side, looking out the same window at the same neighborhoods, eating popcorn from the same circus-patterned box."

This trend makes even the dullest moment seem like a college's freshman's embarrassing attempt to find symbolism in a book they desperately want to be seen to understand. "I realized that, for my mother, that clean kitchen was Cyrano's white plume." No, bitch, it just meant your mom was incredibly bored and brainwashed by Mr. Clean.

Why can't something simple just be simple? Why does the most mundane memory (your first baseball game, getting your hair cut, getting your first puppy) have to turn into a rite of passage? "It was a really intense journey." No, it was you obsessing about getting Botox.

The offshoot of this is that it minimizes the things that really are important. It's like the trend towards referring to even the most minor of losers "superstar." The result is that people who really do have talent are lumped in with them so that Meryl Streep and Paris Hilton rate equal on the hyperbole scale. If the driving lesson with your mom becomes a touchstone of your life, what does that make your wedding day? The Rapture?

Photo of the day: My Blue Period

Famous pants
Companies have really gotten out of hand when it comes to naming things. I recently saw an ad on TV for air fresheners that have a scent called "Brazilian Carnivale." Which makes me think it smells like sweat and vomit.

Clothing lines, too, have gotten even weirder. Green is now "moss" "elm" or "Irish mist." Thanks. And blue can be everything from "soft ocean" to "spring sky." "Gee, Bob, you should wear spring sky more often. It really brings out the red in your eyes."

But I had to laugh when I was in Macy's Men's Store with Husband today and he pointed out these pants. If you know Husband, you'll know why they are so funny.



The Dylan? The Bryant? "Honey, have you seen my Bryants? I want to wear them with my butternut blush shirt."

Photo of the day: Behaving

Nothing worse than unruly chairs. The chairs at KZSU are all nicely stacked, thank you. So are the female DJs.

Dead fish
Creepy? Hilarious? A complete joke? You decide. Farawayfish.com. Because it's never too late to piss people off.

Photo of the day: ... and a Hard Place

Sometimes textures just really appeal to me. I can't explain it. The rough. The smooth. The bumpy. Or, as in the case, the rocky wall of that most photogenic of all places on the planet, Safeway.

Cat of the Week: Clipper
Clipper should have been my CoTW ages ago. He's a total sweetie. Pure black, very loving and affectionate. Today he flopped down on the floor next to me and purred non-stop for 20 minutes. He's such a love bug (you can see him in action here).

Clipper is 7 years old and really needs a good home. He'd make a wonderful companion for someone in need of a little extra love in their lives. You can find out more at the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA website.

Oh, and just in case you ever wonder about karma, it works. I had to run down to KZSU today to do a favor for Husband. I was in a hurry because I didn't want to be late for cat duty. Since there's never anywhere to park during the day, I pulled into a red zone, crossed my fingers, and dashed inside. Six minutes later (I timed it), I came out to find a cop writing me up. I walked up to him and calmly waited for the ticket. I didn't say anything. And he just closed the book and and told me to move on. I thanked him, apologized for breaking the law, and took off. So I did a good deed today and was repaid by the universe. Thank you, Mr. Traffic Guy, for letting me go.

Photo of the day: Tiny Commuters

To sleep...
I've been an insomniac all my life. Even as a child I couldn't fall asleep or sleep through the night. As I got older, it just got worse. It typically takes me two hours to fall asleep, then I wake up a few hours later. I average 4-6 hours on a good night. I'm used to it by now. I watch old movies. Read. When I lived alone I would clean the house or do laundry. I will TiVo pretty much anything that seems interesting because I know at 3 am my viewing choices are limited. (Curse all infomercials and thank god for TiVo.) Some things I'll only make it 5 minutes before I know it's dull. Other things I'll watch straight through while I wait for the cat to wake up or the sun to rise (usually the cat wakes up first).

The problem is that the older I get the harder it is to be awake all night. It's not as easy as it used to be to get by on only a few hours sleep a night, especially after a few nights in a row of being awake. It's harder to drag my tired butt out of bed in the morning...even harder because I don't have a job to get to so I lack that motivation. Given the choice, I'd sleep 'til noon if I could. But that just makes it more difficult to fall asleep that night.

But there are compensations. I like the quiet. The peace. I like curling up under a warm blanket and watching an old movie or some fascinating documentary where I learn something new. I like turning the pages of a good book, a sleeping kitty curled up on my tummy, with I Love Lucy getting into trouble quietly, in the background.

On cold nights, I'l make a cup of herbal tea or some cocoa and, for some reason, feel decadent. In the summertime I'll open the window and listen to the neighborhood cats do the tango in our backyard. I'll pad barefoot around the house, reading the BBC news at 2 am, responding to e-mail at dawn.

Tonight Husband will go to bed like a normal person. I'll set up my nest of pillows and blankets in the living room and select a DVD to watch. Or perhaps I'll read. Eventually I'll fall asleep, two hours later I'll be awake. I can pretty much guarantee that sometime between 2 and 4 I'll be awake, watching Lord Peter Wimsey solve a baffling case or lost in the pages of one of the three books I am currently reading. (Don't ask.) And it'll be quiet, and I'll be slightly jealous of everyone with a normal sleep pattern. But mostly I'll just be content with my coziness, my cat, my sleeping sweetie, and the fact that I will, at some points, finally get some sleep.

Photo of the day: Listening to The Shadow

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows....

Frankly, my dear...
One of my favorite films of all time, Philadelphia Story, was on last night. Last week I ranted about how American speech has turned into crap. I’d have to say that holds true for movies as well.

Think of all the classic lines from the classic movies. “We’ll always have Paris.” “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.” “The stuff that dreams are made of.” “Rosebud.” “You know how to whistle, don’t you? You just put your lips together and blow.” “What we have here is a failure to communicate.”

Now think of any line from any movie of the past five years. Go on, I’ll wait.

Can’t do it, can you? OK, if you can you’ve either got a better memory than I, or you see a lot more movies. The last film I can recall that has a memorable line goes back over 10 years to Apollo 13 and Tom Hanks saying “Houston, we have a problem.”

I saw two recent movies in the past two weeks. The Golden Compass and The Namesake. I enjoyed both and couldn’t tell you anything that was said in either one. I’m a bit clearer on the latter film because I also just read the book, but in neither case was there one line of dialogue that lasted longer than the popcorn took to digest.

Why is that? Why is the history of Hollywood dotted with amazing lines and yet nothing in the past decade has lived up to that tradition? Has the dumbing down of American conversation moved into its movies, or have movies contributed to the demise of the English language? Or is it both? If movies reflect the times in which they are created I suppose it’s little wonder that contemporary filmmaking includes insipid dialogue. Perhaps it’s all part of my rant on how words have lost their magic, their sense of play and wonder. Whatever the cause, I miss movies where you walk out thinking “I wish I’d said that.”

Photo of the day: Green Pepper Swirl

Makes me want ice cream.

Confessions of a World Music DJ
"So how did you get into world music?" the trainee asked me tonight.

When I first came to KZSU, I was planning on being a blues DJ. But there were two superb blues DJs on at the time and I was, quite frankly intimidated. So I fell into my second choice, world music.

I had two world music epiphanies that led me to that genre. The first came in Paris. I was visiting friends on my way to Africa and one of them put a CD on the stereo while we were getting ready to go out to dinner. It was Samedi Soir Sur La Terre by Francis Cabrel, and it was love at first sound. Everything about it just struck me, including the fact that I'd never be able to hear anything like this on American radio. I bought the CD at de Gaulle airport on my way to Malawi and it remains one of my favorite CDs still.

A few months later I was down in LA and heard an interview on the local PBS station with a singer/songwriter from Cameroon named Henri Dikongue. They played a few tracks from his release C'est La Vie and, again, I had to have it. I was able to find it a few weeks later.

Those two CDs were the beginning of my world music collection. And of my love affair. But when I started at the radio station, nearly 10 years ago, I knew next to nothing about the genre. I had heard of a few non-American artists; superstars like Caetano Veloso, Miriam Makeba, Ladysmith Black Mambazo. But not much else. Certainly not enough to do a 3-hour show once a week. My learning curve on this one was so steep that I lived in terror for the first year because every show required hours of preparation. I'd spend entire weekend days in the library, pulling CDs and listening. Finding new artists, following new threads. I discovered how wonderful compilation albums were for introducing me to people I liked. I found those areas of world music that I didn't particularly like (such as gamelan and reggae) and areas that I liked but would probably never play (Indian classical). And I learned that I'd chosen a genre of music where I would be forever doomed to mispronounce every artist on my playlist.

Now I'm the world music director; a job I for which I still feel unqualified. But I do it because I love it, because I love being on the air and doing a great show. (Which I do. Sorry, I can't have false modesty about this. It's not me, it's the music.) And every week I listen to new CDs by artists I've never heard of, and releases by old favorites. I still get a childlike thrill when I open the mail and see "oh wonderful, X has a new CD out!" or I hear some unknown and think "wow, this is amazing." There's nothing like discovering a new musician that speaks to you and it's worth all the occasional crap I have to listen to to find that one gem.

So here I am, 10 years later and a bit wiser (musically) and still loving the music I fell into. I'm so glad I was scared away from doing a blues show (though I love it on those occasions when I do one) because it forced me into a journey that excites me to this day. OK, so I know something about a really obscure (to most of the US. And most of my friends, come to think of it) area of music, but I'm actually proud of myself for the work I've put into the acquisition of that knowledge. And on nights like tonight, when I feel a sense of satisfaction after doing a good show, I think of that night in Paris when I heard music unlike any I'd heard before. And I have to smile. Because sometimes fate is just way too much fun.

Photos of the day: History




All I can say is "joy!"

Photo of the day: King

A few years ago, wandering through an antique store in San Juan Bautista, Husband and I found this work honoring Dr. King. We bought it for Husband's beloved grandmother and sent it to her in Philadelphia. After she died, Husband's mother was cleaning out the house and put it aside for us. It came back to us this Christmas and now hangs in our music office.

It serves as a daily reminder to honor the legacy of Dr. King and all who fought in the Civil Rights battle. It's a great piece of inspiration to make a difference, to fight for what you believe in, and to remember that sometimes you have to make sacrifices to achieve something great.

Happy MLK day to all my friends. I am proud to know so many amazing people who do the right thing, and fight the good fight. Who give money and time. Who are active in changing the world. Who have an active social conscience and a good and generous heart.

And thank you to everyone, everywhere who has dedicated their life to human rights.

A day on, not a day off
So what are you doing tomorrow? Many people have the day off in honor of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Well our incoming president (yay!) and the King Center are asking America to make it a day of work, not a day of rest. They are urging people to spend the day volunteering in their community. I think it's a great idea.

You can find projects near you by visiting the USA Service website, or you can just start your own. I was going to do an extra shift at the shelter, but they're closed tomorrow. So Husband and I are going to grab some gloves and trash bags and find a stretch of beach, park, hiking trail, whatever....that needs a pick-up. Other options? Donate blood. Take the money you would have spent on a movie and popcorn and donate it to your favorite cause. Have a "I care for the environment" day....don't use your car, minimize your energy and water consumption. Or plant your own "victory garden" in your backyard to help green the planet, give you some yummy food in the coming months, and save you some money too.

There are so many ways of getting involved in the world. I urge you to find one that speaks to your heart and do it. An ongoing commitment would be wonderful, but just tomorrow is a good start.

Remember "if you're not part of the solution, you are part of the problem."

Photo of the day: Still Life with Jam

At our favorite breakfast place. How diminished life would be without those individual jam tubs.

Photo of the day: Husband in Heaven

Oh the dangers of letting two DJs loose in a used record store...

Annoying is the New Clever
I am so fucking sick of the phrase "X is the new Y." Red is the new black. Green is the new cult. Gay is the new straight. What does this even mean? Does "gay" now mean "likes to have sex with members of the opposite gender?" Every time I hear that phrase I cringe, because it means nothing.

It means, in fact, that annoying is the new clever.

There's a great line in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey where the heroine, Catherine Moreland, bemoans her lack of social skills by stating "I cannot speak well enough to be unintelligible." Funnily enough, it's as true now as it was in Austen's time. In contemporary culture, making no sense whatsoever is what now passes for being smart, sophisticated, or hip.

Think about it. How many commercials these days have tag lines or claims that make no sense? Beer proudly proclaims itself to have "drinkability." Wow...a liquid with the ability to be consumed, who'd have thought it? A shampoo says it delivers "hair so strong, it shines." Since when did shine become a hallmark of strength? "That ugly perfume fragrance is so strong you're shiny." "Did you see how that weightlifter shined? I needed special glasses just to look at him."

Remember when words meant something? When being able to speak and write well was something to be respected and admired? Now being able to shorten entire sentences to a gibberish collection of symbols is viewed as the epitome of cool. Can anyone really admire the ability to text "C U L8er?" I hate that American culture is being reduced to the equivalent of the text on a vanity plate.

And there are so many insipid words and phrases that show no reluctance to die. "Think outside of the box." Here's a tip folks, don't get in the fucking box to begin with. "Superstar." Half the time that word is applied to someone I've never heard of and who is famous solely for being famous. Then there's the relentless shortening of words. "Phenom," for instance. That one gets me because not only is it annoying, but it invariably refers to someone or something barely adequate, let alone phenomenal.

I love old movies, and one of the reasons why is because the scripts are so good. The dialog is witty and assumes the audience has a brain. Or the plot is suspenseful (rather than merely stupid interludes waiting for the next disembowelment) and the characters speak like people you'd like to meet, as opposed to someone you'd cross the street to avoid. And everyone speaks in complete sentences, in actual English. They don't speak in shorthand. And the lines are memorable. "Here's looking at you, kid" will never be forgotten. "You are one phat ho, mama." can't be forgotten soon enough.

Cat of the Week: Brodi
Brodi shares a condo with five other cats and while several of them could easily have been my CotW, she really stood out. She claimed the middle of my lap, but happily shared with PussNBoots and Belle and I had a lapful. She's very sweet and affectionate, gentle, good-natured, and loves to purr. She and Puss seem to be especially close, grooming each other and falling asleep in my lap with paws around each other. (Talk about "awww.")

This little grey and white cutie (ID A442558) will make someone a wonderful companion. If you're very lucky, she might be yours. Find out more at the Peninsula Humane Society & SPCA website.

Cat of the Week Update: Motley and Mikey have both been adopted!! I am so happy. And I'm really going to miss Motley. When I woke up this morning I was already looking forward to a good face-licking, but am thrilled she's found a home. Whoever is Motley's new family is very, very lucky. Several other of my favorites have also been adopted (it's been a great week), including Satch, Gouda, and Addidas. I'll miss them all, but I'm so happy to know they now have full-time laps. Especially Motley, she was very special and so deserving of a good, loving home.

Photo of the day: When is a Door Not a Door?

The Story of India
Husband and I are really enjoying The Story of India a six-part PBS series hosted by Michael Wood. It's a fascinating show, beautifully photographed and presented and full of "I didn't know that" moments. India is one of those places that has always fascinated me. And yet, oddly enough, I've never really thought about visiting there. I'd probably catch something fatal, because I am just that unlucky.

But this is a way of vicariously learning about this ancient and glorious civilization. The first episode traced the origins of Sanskrit and the Indian peoples. Episode two, which we've just finished watching, is about India's spiritual past, specifically Buddha and the ancient kings who searched for enlightenment.

If you have any interest in India, or even if you're just looking for some literate, fascinating TV, check out this series. I don't think you'll be disappointed.

Photo of the day: Purple

I love the purple flowers that grow in the iceplant in front of our house. There's a nice covering of them thanks to this warm weather and it always makes me smile when I open the curtains in the morning and see them. Purple is my favorite color...for things. Not on me. On me I just look like the Fruit of the Loom Grapes.

Photo of the day: Dust on the Sax Case

It's dusty, it hasn't been played in decades, and it's one of the the things I love the most. My brother Steve's baritone sax. Gathering dust, but still making me smile.

(Can you tell the camera is back?)

A real sports hero
Bravo to Florida State safety Myron Rolle who is delaying his entry into the NFL draft to attend Oxford on a Rhodes Scholarship. He still plans to enter the NFL and then would like to go to med school and then open a free clinic in the Bahamas.

So nice to read of someone putting education ahead of sports/money and with a social conscience as well.

Photo of the day: Watch the Birdies

Yum....bird food. It must be highly colored to make these guys so pretty.

Photo of the day: Branching out

Another "saved" photo (so looking forward to having the camera back), this time from early November. Proof that I do, occasionally, go outside. (And yes, I'm looking forward to having Husband back more.)

Photo of the day: What?

Camera is in NYC with Husband, so my Photo of the Day entry is dependent upon what I have stored in iPhoto. Oddly enough, I have lots of photos of Cipher (The World's Most Amazing Cat, Screw You if You Don't Agree tm) so that's what you're getting. This is her "why are you bothering me with that black flashy thing?" look. I'm usually intimidated enough to put the camera down. For a beautiful cat, she often takes a lousy picture. (Then again, I often take a lousy picture too.)