Merry Christmas

Christmas ruled. Sara's mom and Sasha have a good bond. Almost as good as Deirdre's face in that picture.

Closing In

Gimme Shelter

The dudes have abided. Abode. Whatever.


Shelter Cove 2007 was even better than 2006. Sweeter house, Wii, White Russians, the whole bit.

The surf wasn't great for Shelter Cove. Even so, it was still good to be in an uncrowded lineup catching short, fun, slow waves. The Wii was a hit, Eric brought Ted Papenhagen and Coz Worthington, and the Big Lebowski just gets better with age. Thanks to Zeke and Andy for the video.

Youth Rules

Biology mandates a sort of cuteness-bond from parent to kid. Every parent thinks their kid is cute, if not the absolutely mostest-cutest baby on Earth, in the history of babies. Right?

Keeping that feeling at bay gets tiring, and once in a while, you let your guard down.

Shh...Don't tell Sasha

First post from Sara!

I knitted this up for Sasha's 1st birthday, coming up on December 10. Made of organic cotton, it reminds me of a ballerina wrap sweater. Now to finish the baby pants I started 2 years ago for her Christmas prezzie...by then they're likely be too small!

Holla

Sara's 30th kicked ass. If you give out free banjo lessons, you know where to find her.

Waving

Sasha likes waving. At people, at shadows, at her reflection, at the empty middle-distance in a room (which doesn't mean she sees ghosts, right?). But she'll wave and wave and wave until she gets a wave back.

Walking back to the car in the CostCo parking lot, Sara (on the last day of her 20's) reiterated the point. "She'll wave at anyone. She waves at people who don't usually get waves, people who usually get ignored on the street. Super-old people, bums, whoever. And it makes their day."

___________

Speaking of waves, it was 10 ft. @ 13 sec. this morning at the jetty.

I brought my board, mainly just to humor myself, but didn't go in.

Get your tickets out, we're going to the gun show.

Tender Waveforms.

There's this show "Radiolab" out of a NY public radio station that is fucking brilliant. If you've not heard it, it's an hourlong documentary show, sort of like This American Life's smarter cousin.

It could be pinnacle of modern storytelling. It's edited is unlike any other show, and if you're not used to it, you have to meet it on it's own terms. The sound is stretched and bent, brushed and scrubbed, hammered and sequined. The sound just sparkles.

So, this week's episode. It's too soon to say "Best Radio Show Of All Time Ever", but it's on my personal list. It's about how they paint with sound. It's like they climbed up my brain and explained stuff back to me that I always almost knew.

This weeks' episode is about the nitty-gritty of editing Radiolab. About how to, say, gut a soundbite for all it's interesting sonic bits. Then how to take those bits, invert them against themselves, and rearrange them to restate the point of the soundbite itself.

Like an audio MC Escher. It's achingly good.

Why?

I am suddenly obsessed with the Writer's Strike.

Can't quite put it together. We love TV, almost evangelically.
("What, you don't have a TV? Wait, what? You killed it??" Ungh. You don't go slashing canvases just because Thomas Kincade walks the earth. You go to better museums. But whatever.)

Does it make sense? No. But writers do the heavy lifting in entertainment, and get zero credit. So, if you walk by a striking writer, which is very unlikely, give them a tongue-kiss.

Unrelated: Humboldt County is a difficult place for escalator enthusiasts.

And Sasha's fine and about to be a year old.

I Had A Gizzle Tizzle

Guess who really likes to smoke pot, have sex, and use the word "motherfucker" in lots of different contexts?

I will say that the show was really fun. They blew some speakers within the first 20 seconds of the show, half the mics weren't on, and they were getting high on stage.

Make no mistake: they came to party, and I have never seen a more enthusiastic crowd at the Muni.

Relatives Love Video

Yu Nork

Saturday


So, the Friday flight out of ACV was cancelled.

Woke at 4:00 am Saturday to catch the next flight out, which was Sac->DC->NY.

All went well on the plane, no troubles. Except for one thing.

You know when you're sitting outside at a campfire, and your eyes can't help but be sucked in by the flame? How awesome is that? OK, now, instead of being outside, imagine you're on a dark plane, and switch that campfire out with the guy in front of you's porta-DVD. And, instead of flames, make it a live Eagles concert DVD. Not even old Eagles. Farewell show, Melbourne, 2005. Of all the bands. I hope it's not a sign.


So, I step out of the NYC subway at 42nd street, which happens to be Times-Square. Sirens, traffic, mayhem, noise, and kettle corn all over the street (I guess a snack cart got smashed or something). I LOVE travel. Serious.

I'm pretty wiped from what turned into a 13-hour door-to-door day, so I've been walking around New York in a daze. It is, though, Saturday night and the streets are hopping.


Blinking lights and screens everywhere. At Times Square, a guy ten feet away collapsed in a what looked like an epileptic seizure. Here's the thought process as I watch this happen:

First few seconds: He's faking it
:10 seconds: He's not, where's a cop?
:20 seconds: This is a total test of whether or not people stop to help him (which, by this time, several people were on the ground with him.) Where's a fucking cop?
:25 A lady is on the cell calling an ambulance
:60 FDNY sirens close in and help arrives; I split.


Sunday

Perfect, just perfect.

Ran for 80 minutes out to the Hudson, chilled for a few, made it over to Central Park and ran back to midtown. Radio: WFUV, WMFU, K-Rock (which should be W-Rock), and Hot 97. Beautiful fall weather. Crisp and golden.

I had not really planned on doing anything other than going down to Greenwich Village, reading the Bob Dylan book, and finding that street they shot the photo of "Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" on. Jones Street. Steve Earle lives on Jones, too.

Hopped off the subway at Christopher Street. Wandered for hours. Got just lost enough. Read the local edition of the Sunday NY Times.

I found Washington Square Park, which is a landmark if you're into folk music. Read the Dylan book and watched the action: awesome buskers, street comedians (who were funny and racist against everyone, and the mixed crowd was loving it), picnic-ers.

Close the book and walk off the square. 6:30 pm and the light is doing cool things to the trees, so I'm setting up a photo when this guy stops.

Him: "Can you believe it? Right there in the open. Man."
Me: "What are you talking about?"
Him: "That girl. With the glass pipe. Isn't that what you're taking a photo of?"

Turns out I must've looked like the biggest narc ever. I was evidently framing a shot that had a girl smoking crack in it. My bad.

The guy and me talk for a half hour; George was a 40-something bricklayer from Queens. Used to be in the Marines, his baby-mamma lives in NY but he wants to move back to Tulsa, because New York is heading for social collapse. "I gotsta go, man, I gotta buy a new T-Mobile because I dropped mine into a hollow wall. Fuckin' 200 bucks." I never took that photo.

Monday

Murrow Day.

Patrick and me tour WFUV in the Bronx. Holy smokes. Radio wonderland of gear, staff, and perfect, brand-new studios. Rita the music director was hella cool. We come back through Harlem.


The dinner is that night. It's at the Grand Hyatt between Park and Madison avenues. Doesn't that say it all? Tuxedos, TV and radio people everywhere. CNN's, Anderson Cooper, NBC's Brian Willams, NPR's Michelle Norris, but no Fox people.


Getting the award was weird, they shuffled everyone through the podium quickly. A PA came and got me; put me in line. "When you get the award, shake hands with your right, grab the award with your left, pose for the still, and move down to your left." Then they shuffled us off to the green room for more posing, gripping, grinning, etc. They give everyone a bottle of commemorative white wine.

I walked the mile back to the hotel at 10:00 PM.

Strolled through Times Square in my tuxedo, Clem Snide on the iPod, bottle of wine in hand, which totally made up for that Eagles DVD.

Total Pro for hire

A friend and I were talking about email and IM slang protocol.

He and his wife had just put an ad on an east coast Craigslist board. They were looking for a babysitter. "You gotta see it, it's hysterical. I'm going to forward it to you," he said. I'm fairly flexible on spelling, slang, and informal typing, but this I had to share. (Originally in blue font, I wiped the name and phone number. Otherwise it's unchanged).
_________________________________________

"hi, i am responding to ur ad on craigslist about needing a babysitter. it said u needed some one asap so i thought id email u. about me... well im a 17 year old girl from carver, but am moving to nh, not sure when but within a few weeks and of course id let u know. most people wont even consider temps but i picture it as helping out for a little while so u have a little extra time to find the right person. though im only 17 i have a whole lot of experience and im willing to share them with u and also references. i have my lisence and small car. i have driving experience because i took a car trip down to north carolina by myself and i drove the whole time. that was like a 15 hour drive per day. i thought i was going to be moved to nh by now but i had lost contact with the person i was moving in with so im sticking around for a little while longer. (i got back in contact with that person just we have to look for anothe r place) so i gave my 2 weeks notice at the place i was working at on aug. 10th and my last day was aug. 24th. i am currently out of school but looking to get a GED then going off to college. i have experience with all ages from newborns to special needs adults. (i have been living with and caring for multiple special needs adults since i was about nine) i also am used to caring for multiple children and different behaviors (my mom did alot of foster care while i was growing up) like i said, i dont know how long ill be staying but it gives u an option of making sure u have the right person. if ur interested my name is xxxxxx, my cell is broken right now but my home number is 1 xxx-xxx-xxxx, u can call or email and ill try to get back to u asap! thanx for ur time!"

Kill Whitey

This (probable)Great White Shark washed up near my work, so I went to go check it out. I knew that some chump had already finned it and it's teeth had been pried out.

It's against federal law to possess any body part of an endangered species. This guy didn't know that, and didn't seem to care that I was recording him.

I asked him what he was going to do with the flesh. "I'm making a sword", said the sharkskin swordsman.

OK Computer

The information is back.

After over a month without a functional computer at home, our Dell Dimension has stayed "on" for hours.

This is what it took:

1. 6 Phone calls to Dell,
2. A new motherboard
3. 1 misdiagnosis from "Mandi" at Dell Tech
4. Hella patience

But we're back. And it's having it's same old effect on our routine. One of us sits apart from the other (in this, and many, cases, me)in a little room doing things of minor importance. The other sits out in the real world and does real things, wondering WTF the other person is on the computer for. Yay, computers.

"Kill Your TV" bumperstickers bug the hell out of me. Really? You hate TV? More than anything else, so much so that you have to brag about it? Can't put something on there like "Love Your Enemy" or "Infinity Is a Trip"? But I do get the sentiment, especially with regards to computers.

We haven't not had a computer (yes, double negative, so what) in 10 years, easily. Without it, it's so obvious what the impact is. Myspace page needs maintenance. 250 unread emails, most of which aren't really important. CC pollution. Youtube stuff to watch. Blog *cough* needs updating.

But after our excursion into the computer-free lifestyle, I'm happy to report that people out there are surviving just fine. Yes, it sucks at times, especially when all of your phone numbers are in a Google account and you can't price-check motels. But by and large, the negatives of sitting screen-bound on a computer are way worse for us than for, say, TV (which brings us together, and closer to Larry David. He so awkward).

We will work on controlling the real/virtual world balance. Be it resolved. Now I'm going to "hi-five" repeatedly with a nine-month-old on the floor.

Which Way LA

Mike here. Sara, Sasha and myself have been in LA since last week. We're staying with her granparents, who are feeding us, lending us a Chrysler, letting us do pretty much anything we want, and generally taking extremely good care of us.




Friday: fly down after work.





Saturday:



Go look for a surfboard rental for the week. Turns out renting a board for a week (we're here for 10 days) runs about $230. Yikes. I step into the surfshop next to the rental shop just to poke around before kicking down the dough. Lo, there in the used pile is a slightly dinged but beautiful, 9'3 high-performance tri-fin noserider. Price tag? $195. Sara and I quickly consult the options: how to get it home? Incidental costs with the airline? Leash? Wax? What if it snaps? We bite the bullet and buy it. SCORE! SUPER SCORE! NEW BOARD!



Go looking for surf. We wind up at Sunset. It's the wrong tide, and the waves are inconsistent. But it's warm, I have a new board, and Sasha and Sara are down for beach time. First wave paddled for on the new ride was made. Always a good luck sign. Dolphins in the lineup are also good luck!


Several stand-up paddleboarders were out. This was new to me. These folks look literally like they're walking on water. It's the new/old thing to do, I guess.


(Doesn't Sasha look like Tom Waits here?)



I think we did something else that day, too. Don't remember.


Sara's step-aunts Suzanne and Stacy swing by. Man, they're cool. Seriously. Dinner together was fun.


Sunday:

Wake up at 4:30 (by accident, I was aiming for 5:30) and scoot down to the beach. Surf Rose Ave at first light. First one in the water. Waves are micro beach breaks, but it was still fun.


We drive to Seal Beach with Sara's mom to visit Sara's biological grandmother. She lives at Leisure World, has a thing for TV, and has lots of paintings of dark, stormy waves. I split early to go surf the San Gabriel Rivermouth. The Stormrider guide says that stepping on stingrays and/or sandsharks is a threath. Yikes. I wear booties. Fun, windy, closed out. More standup paddleboarders.



I return to Leisure World to find everbody watching TV. Judy decides to do a grocery run; comes back 1 1/2 hours later. We all watch local news and network TV.

Monday:


We had planned, as a micro-getaway, to go up to Ventura for a couple of days. The drive up included lots of surfchecks. (By the way, Matt Brunner is our surf-advice-contest winner. details later.)

Folks said, "Oh, you got to check out:
"Leo Carillo
"Zuma
"Topanga
"Malibu
"County Line
"California Street/C-street..."
etc

...and we did. We settled on Zuma, which was on the way up. Surfed for an hour or more on my own peak. Closeouts and beachbreak, but it was warm and clear. I think my shorts chaffed all the scruff off the inside of my thighs.

We found a cheap room (at the Vagabond, which was surprisingly vagabond-free) two minutes' walk from downtown and 15 minutes' walk from the surf spot.

Walked around downtown for a bit. Sasha was in a semi-meltdown by dinnertime. I surfed until dark at this spot called California Street/C-Street/Ventura Point/Surfers Point that Matt Brunner suggested. I think he's from Ventura originally, and damn, that was great advice. A mega-long soft right-hand pointbreak. It's the wave on the cover of the North American Stormrider guide, for all you nerds. NERDS! Caught tons of long waves until the full moon was overhead.


Tuesday:


Dawn-patrolled at that same spot. I was in the water by 5:45, well before sunrise, and there were already five people in the water. The third was I caught was the best of the day, except that it knocked my contact out. DAMN! First time ever that's happened to me. Huffed it back to the room for a replacement. 35 minutes later the lineup was full, the sunrise happened, but I still caught some good waves.


We roamed Ventura on foot for the rest of the morning and early afternoon. What a cool town!



Their homeless are a lot like Arcata's homeless: lost, but with feeling. Sara cruised the bountiful thrift shops (my favorite, and I'm not making this up: "The Retarded Children's Thrift Store") and scored bargains a-plenty. The park with the old cannons was nice.






Wednesday:


Sara decides she wants to surf. This request is limited to warm-water, shark-free conditions, so I jump on it. We drive to Malibu in the morning to catch the low tide. We put her on the board and start walking her out into the less-crowded side of the lineup. She gets on the board and I start pushing her toward the wave. For reasons determined later (critters, colder water, rocks, fright), she has a change of heart. So be it. Did I fight? No. I surfed. That's right. I surfed Malibu. Poorly, but I still did it.



That night Wilco was at the open-air Greek theatre. Sold out show in the LA hills, warm and beautiful. I'd never seen a show there, so it was nice to finally experience this venue.



During the show, we get several voicemails indicating that something at home went wrong, is that ok, but don't worrry about it, nevermind, the situation is resolved and all is well. We get involved at the "all is well" point in the situation, so it never happened as far as we don't know.



Wilco play "California Stars" as part of their massive encore.


Thursday:





Disneyland and California Adventure.









Disneyland. It's been too long. Now it will be too long again.

We managed to go to OC during the peak of the SoCal heatwave, which really made life difficult. But we did all the major rides, and still had time for that new park across the parking lot from Disneyland called California Adventure.


An employee told us about drugs and Disneyland. First of all, there actually IS a chamber with Mickey Mouse wallpaper where they let people who took too much acid (or whatever) come down. Secondly, there are at least two big drug days at Disneyland each year: Raver Day and Bat day.

Bat Day is the Goth day at Disneyland. Apparently at 7:00 pm on Bat Day the place to be is on at the Haunted House. When the room starts to descend, the ride host basically says, instead of the normal Haunted House schpeel, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome home!" Everybody whoops loudly. So loudly, this person said, that earplugs would be helpful.

Raver Day seems to be more of a general psychedelic day. "Their favorite ride is the Winnie the Pooh ride, because it's so trippy already." Not having been on that ride, we didn't really believe it. Believe it.

The drag about the end of the day was that we missed a crucial voicemail from the Grampies saying that not only was Sasha not good, but she was crying all day, not sleeping, not eating, and not drinking. It took us over an hour to get to Disneyland, but only 40 minutes to race back.



Friday:


Dawn patrol at Malibu. It's crazy crowded, and I got dropped in on a bunch. But for a non-local, I wasn't really disrepected. Or noticed (I hope).



Shopping at H+M at Beverly center, and first access to the internet(s) all week. Oh, internet.
Off to California Pizza Kitchen to solidify our California-ness.

This whole time, I should add, we've been watching the US Open on a 60-inch Hi-def screen. Kick ASS!


Saturday:



Still super-hot. This whole vacation we haven't really "slept in"; today's no different. I drive up PCH looking for surf. PCH is bumper-to-bummer because, apparently, two cops hit eachother at Topanga and PCH. So, instead of Topanga for the morning, it was Sunset again. Which sucked. 300 people in the water, I surf for an hour and get 3 waves.



Sara's grandfather is intent on teaching us how stock markets work, and has been for years. Today he sat us down for an hour going over various finance-management websites. We got little out of it.

It's at this point that we realize it's nice here, but home is starting to sound pretty good. Don't we have a dog still? What's he up to?

Sunday: 3rd Street Promenade after surfing Bay Street. Not a single celebrity sighting.

Monday: Fly Home. Surf Bunkers.

Trinity Alps

Other than "I need more of this", there's not a lot you can say to describe waking up next to a mountain lake with your dog and friends. And your friend's dog.

Trail Gulch Lake, Klamath National Forest.

High Sierra Festivaaaaaaaaaal!

High Sierra '07 ruled. It was Sasha's first, Sara's third, and my sixth. I saw at least 27 bands in 4 days.

This show is one of those events where everyone's a participant. The bands seem to really like the show, and the people take care of eachother. Way better than Reggae, Bonnaroo, Hog Farm, etc. It's just a really positive place to be.


The festival this year was super hot. When we got to Quincy, it was hundo-plus. We saw 110 on a thermometer, which was sort of scary, what with the baby and all. The drive was fine; we stayed in Susanville the night before and somewhere along the way the odometer made a pretty pattern.

Bringing a six-month old into these dirty, noisy, hot, debaucherous conditions demands a little prep: earplugs, misting-bottle, jogging stroller, sunscreen, etc. Her whole life Sasha has been sporting eco-groovy cloth diapers; I'm sad to report that we broke the seal on our first-ever disposable diapers this weekend. Seriously, though. Would you want super-thick underwear on in those conditions? No. It'd be nasty. But as it turns out, disposable diapers work damn well in heat. We just have to buy some "disposable-diaper offsets" somewhere and we'll be good with the green police.

Jen and Box (my co-worker and her husband) got on site earlier than us and locked down a spacious, shady spot replete with coffee table, shade parachute, and parking spot right next to the site.

We got on site by late morning and were set up by lunch. Janet, Joey and Larry showed up shortly thereafter. The CRV has a pop-out folding table built in to the trunk which I've been DYING to use at HSMF. This years' campsite was close to perfect. We were in the "family camp" area, which meant it was slightly quieter and probably less psychedelic than other camps.


OK, so music is why you're supposed to go to these things. Hanging out is a close second, and in my case I had some 'work' to do (artist interviews = backstage/photo pit access). The interviews went great and I can probably use most of both of them (ALO and Xavier Rudd). Larry introduced Devil Makes Three on the main stage and did great.


Best show: Drive By Truckers. Holy shit. Who knew???

Best musicianship: Del McCoury, who pilots his band like James Brown. Sara's big find was ThaMuseMeant.

Also great: Galactic, Brett Dennen, Devil Makes Three, ALO, Budos Band, Leftover Salmon, FutureRock, Les Claypool, Mofro, Thamusemeant, and Xavier Rudd.

Duds: Ivan Neville's Dumpstaphunk and Chris Thile.

Outstanding freakishness: Portland's March Fourth Marching Band. This was nuts; this band just invades the throng and kicks out party jams. The band doesn't really march as much as they disperse into the crowd so the music is coming from all angles. In this video clip, what you can't see is that all those people dancing were basically passed out on the field. Suddenly, the M4 shows up and within maybe 30 seconds, everybody had sprung up and started gettin' down. I have never, ever seen a crowd of strangers gel into a party so fast.


A word about JJ Grey and Mofro: Ladies love LL Cool JJ. It's musical pheremones, I think. They played a late-night set (midnight, maybe?), and by the second song the whole tent had turned into the bathhouse scene from Caligula. The females *really* enjoyed Mofro's lusty beats, and the males really enjoyed that. I've seen Mofro twice, both times this happens. I don't get it, and thankfully neither does Sara. "He's not that hot." Yeah, totally.

Larry introduced a band, but I chickened out. I was supposed to do a bunch of MCing, but the idea got worse as it became more realistic. No thanks. "Oh, you guys look like you have it covered. I'd just get in the way. "

Anyway, there were way too many little amazements to blog into. You walk around getting compliments from strangers, giving out fruit juice, talking to anyone, staying up as late as you can, and checking out everyone's freak flag. For me, it's tuly one of the most valuable ways to spend time.

I'll leave it alone by saying that for a few days, life was almost completely perfect. And for a few select moments, it was literally perfect.

West swell 2.5 @ 7

How's Camel Rock looking? Great? Not a great as Powerpoles was yesterday. I promise.

Normally, a 2-and-a-half-foot wave is something you'd not even waste gas on looking at. The forecast was micro, the wind was nil, and the beach was empty.

Turns out there was a little juice behind the swell, which was a clean W pulse. Minus tide, the water was glassy, the waves were waist-high in the sets, and it was just one of those days where you sit outside the lineup in a state of exaltation. Zeke caught some rights and lefts, and I worked on some off-the-lip floaters, 360s, and other shortboarder baloney that normally I'd never be caught dead attempting. Also, the added danger of a rumored shark sighting two days before just added to it.

I'm just sayin', it was epic and tiny simultaneously. (Although we did break my latest mantra: "Don't look, just go.")

__

We're heading out to Sasha's first High Sierra. The lineup is great as always, and it's looking like I'm going to introduce some bands early in the day. Freaky? Yes. Fun? Sort of. Good enough reason to not start drinking until the evening? Definitely.

Anyway, we're both really excited to get back to this show. It's probably our favorite festival in terms of vibe, quality of experience, location, and lineup. (Coachella looks good and Bonnaroo was fun, though.)





___

Lastly, I'm finising up on the first episode of my first-ever temporary side gig. This syndicated public radio show (300+ stations in 9 countries) lost their post-production engineer and needed someone to get them through until they find a permanent replacement. So far, so good. Gary Melton would be favorably impressed with their lack of plosives, EQ, aesthetically-pleasing crossfades, etc.

Spoon feeding

This week we started non-booby food. Which, while a nice sign of progress, is just another step away from a world in which boobs are required multiple times a day.

Heartbreak aside, Sasha took to the spoon with grace and precision. Most of the food stayed in.

This would be yet another good point to remind oneself that everybody had to learn how to eat. How weird is that?

Also, we had a hint of crawling. At one point, Sasha was seen on the other side of her playpen in a totally different position. No witnesses.

Edward R. Murrow

That's Ed. He's got a cigarette in most photos. And suspenders. And furrowed facial expressions. If you have to explain "He's a famous journalist", he's probably not that famous. But he's the pre-Cronkite journalism gold standard, a relic from the days when one angle was good enough for America.

A documentary I produced won an Edward R. Murrow award. First it won the "West Coast Regional", then it won the National Award for small-market news documentary.

This is a good thing, to be sure. I think. My point is that it's also awkward. When it aired, it was well-received, but most people missed it.

So, the winners were posted. My boss ran up the stairs to announce the good news. Black-tie awards ceremony in NY in the fall.

It was in the papers. An aunt called from a plane when she found out. Various local newspeople emailed. A neighbor hollered "Nice work!" from the driveway. It's in the trades, and the industry people send nice notes; many bear a surprised undertone. Sara's boss made some sort of congratulatory statement in a staff meeting. Compared it to a Pulitzer, I hear. Let's not go that far.

In fact, let's take it down a notch. Because, when I found out it won the nationwide prize: "Really? Humhm. Cool."

I think that most people have almost no clue what the award means. I am among them.
So, in the end, it's a nice little bonus. Here are the lessons:

1. Now I get it when people say "It's about the story, not us."
2. Now I understand that there are a lot of awards for all sorts of things.
3. Now I have proof that over-editing isn't a total inefficiency.
3. Smoking cigarettes gets an award named after you.

Things haven't been busy or anything

Mike here.

Ironically, the more you have to blog about, the less likely you are to have time to actually blog.

Ok, so long stories short:

Sara's grandparents, they of generous spirit, took me on a gameshow-sized shopping spree. It was unreal. When they look at the guy that married their granddaughter, they didn't want to see a slovenly bumpkin. They wanted to see a person who's clothes were hole-free. They have now achieved that.

Bonus: I scored flip-flops with bottle-openers on the soles. I'm surpised that the gimmick is actually quite helpful. Who knew?

As a temporary side gig, I might soon be working with an internationally distributed radio program. Then again, I might not, we'll see. It'd be fun to do some super high-tech audio stuff. Nobody understands the joy scrubbing heavy breaths, plosives, and spittle out of somebody else's voicetrack for hours. I LOVE it. I dream about Pro Tools.

The deck project is finally done. Adam and Dustin put in the sliding door connecting our bedroom to the deck, and it really opened the house up (seriously, no pun intended.) The backyard had no direct access, and thus sat virtually empty for the last 20 years. Now, just in time for global warming to flood our block, it can actually be used for recreatin'. Get it while the gettin's good.

Sasha hit the big six-month mark, and is waxing mobility. She conquered sitting last month, and now stand/leaning is all the rage. Sitting is for five-month olds. Plus, she eats anything that she can hold.

Crapplebee's

Sara and me can go to Rita's and eat for maybe $20. Not bad, good food, local restaurant. But we'd been sitting on this $10 coupon for Applebee's and figured, "Why not?"

OK, two quick reasons: 1) food and 2) almost everything else.

First off, Applebee's "flair" is ultra-realistic. It's like a Hard Rock Cafe, but instead of rock semi-collectibles, it's homey, American junkabelia.

Applebee's Flair Placement Rulebook:

#24: Each picture must be framed and location-generic

#25: For the crown shelving around the perimeter, Flair items must be overlapping each other, forming an unbroken flair trail around the building

#61: Please acquire local, authentic looking flair whenever possible. Fire departments, little leagues and schools are good resources. If impossible, place any local Flair closest to the entry way. Order additional approved flair from headquarters.


Not even the salads were vegetarian! The nachos were dressed lukewarm tube-cheese, and the artichoke dip looked like puke.

We boldly trudge through it. At least the Brewser (how clever!) beer was Steelhead on tap. Turns out it was a $5 beer.

Total price AFTER the coupon was still $32. I would actually pay $32 on top of that to undo the feeling in my stomach. And then another $32 to annul the whole situation. The only good part is that the chirpy waitstaff doted on Sasha. Awwwww.

Here's the thing, though. Applebee's was full of people. People who probably like Applebee's. A table of whitehaired old ladies who play cards for nickels. Some menonites (?) with a newborn. A party of 8. Kevin, the groovy surfing minister, who just got a new 10'6 single-fin longoard. Everybody was so happy and nice. Where was the seedy underbelly? Everything has a dark side, yes? Could it be so one-dimensional?

So, bemoaning the state of family-style restaruant chains not only unproductive, but probably off-base. Something's going on there that I am missing. What is it? Maybe the America from TV actually exists in a stucco restaraunt on broadway.


By the way, a Google Image search of "Applebees" is a good way to kill 10 minutes.

Mother's Day Redux

Steve and Marigold Haske have this ultra-enjoyable blog. You don't need to know them to like it, but they are basically just like you: articulate, upwardly mobile, talented, devastatingly savvy, all that.

Anyway, Steve said I could repost Marigold's thoughts on Mother's Day. He said!

Being new parents ourselves, it resonated. He also said that I should try and make her look bad when I repost it, so I'll use an out-of-context photo of her.

Take it away, Marigold!
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Last year on Mother's Day I was about halfway through my pregnancy and I wrote a post entitled Ten Things About My Impending Motherhood That Scare The Bejesus Out of Me.

So this year, I'm going to re-visit that list and see how I'm doing now that Motherhood has arrived.

Ten Things About My Impending Motherhood That Scared The Bejesus Out of Me, But Now Don't So Much, And Why

1. The pee-pee. Never had one and not quite sure how to deal with it.
Well, I should've known that it wouldn't be all that scary. Except when he has really watery poop, because there are a lot of little nooks and crannies around that thing that need to be wiped up.

2. I have a strong aversion to vacuuming and have visions of all of the resulting kitty litter, pubic hairs, toenails, boogers, Cheeto crumbs, etc. that will inevitably end up stuck to Baby as he learns to crawl.
I keep one room of the house very clean, for the most part, and Huck is free to crawl about this room to his heart's content. When I notice that it's getting a little gross, I vacuum. The funny thing is, Huck also has a strong aversion to the vacuum. It scares the crap out of him. He cries and literally trembles in fear. Steve will bring him to another room and hold him while I do it.

3. What am I supposed to do with all of my craft supplies? I have a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Beads and ribbon and wire and glues for every occasion. And I'm no good at putting them away.
They are in a dedicated craft room that Huck's not allowed into. I do crafts in the livingroom after his bedtime, and I put them away when I'm done. Not a big deal.

4. The whole birthing process.
Yeah. That kind of sucked. But it's true that you forget it, because already I think it wasn't so bad.

5. Who will love the cats? And my Sims? Who will love them?
Nobody.

6. I require a lot of attention and affection from Steve. I like lots of snuggley-wuggly-wuvy-yuvies. Sometimes I like to yell, "PAY ATTENTION TO ME!" from across the apartment. I fear my doting husband will dote on me no more.
Hmm. This one is hard to explain. Our relationship is much . . . richer, I guess, now that Huck is here. We have always had a very strong relationship, but it is definitely a whole different kind of connection, being parents together. Something I don't think is possible without a baby. Our priorities are different. All of those worries I had about being too selfish to be a mother are completely non-issues now, because motherhood took all of that selfishness away. If that makes sense. I do miss "couple time" sometimes, though.

7. Dear God, isn't it just going to be so very very very exhausting? Am I going to be just soooo tired for the next eighteen years?
Not nearly as much as I thought it would be. I do have my days when I feel beat down and I need sleep, but overall I feel good. I've said this before, but I continue to amaze myself with my own stamina. Also, honestly, I could care less about being tired. This is funny to me because I've always been such a lazy person. I like napping and vegging out in front of the T.V. and having lots of "me" time. There were so many things I was scared about changing when I found out I was pregnant. Those things were SUCH a big deal. I actually thought I was giving something up to have a baby. Maybe freedom, or maybe unrealized potential. But now that he's here, my entire life is better. Now I look at people who don't want kids, or who are waiting for the "right" time and I think, you are missing out on the very best part of your life, and you don't even know it. So, I guess what I'm saying is that being a little tired is such a stupid thing to worry about. Now go have a baby.

8. Breastfeeding/breast pumping/cracked nipples/engorgement/plugged ducts/nipple confusion.
I was pretty lucky in this department. We had a rough couple of days right in the beginning, and it did sting at the latch on for the first month, but those are minor issues. We're both pros at it now. Incidently, I always knew I would breastfeed, but I never knew how much I would enjoy it. I love the drunk look Huck gets after he tanks up. Plus, nursing releases hormones that make me feel relaxed and content.

9. What about Lost? How will I watch it with Little Billy screaming all of the time? I can tape it or get TiVo, but won't I want to sleep when Baby's sleeping? What about all the important research that goes into watching that show?
This is not an issue at all. Again, it speaks to how priorities change. I still love the show, of course, but it's not a huge deal if I have to tape it and watch it the next day because I need to go to bed. Steve does most of the internet research during his lunch break and will report to me if there's anything major I need to know about.

10. This little bitty person is going to need me more than he needs anybody else. What if I just really screw up?
Meh. I'm good at this Mommy stuff.