Happy B-Day, Gojeannie!
Although you're already getting the best present ever (well...in a month or so), Happy Birthday wishes to the bee-yoo-tiful mom-to-be! 
November 24, 2008
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Adventures in the Great NorthwestTraveling back in time to play Xanga Catch-up, Himself and I finally took the twice-delayed vacation to parts north in October. It was—as always—So. Much. Phun.Met up with Linda and Jer in Seattle—since more friends were joining us in a couple of days, why not hang out in Cool Central (Northwest) instead of burning daylight driving to the Olympic peninsula and back? Exactly. Settled ourselves in the Residence Inn on Lake Union. If you ever get the chance to stay in Seattle, we can't possibly recommend any joint more. True, its not located in downtown proper but besides offering suites with 2 bedroom/bath sets, a sizeable living room/kitchen common area and killer deck overlooking Lake Union, there's a complimentary buffet breakfast each morning. And a waterfall in the lobby. And vending machines with ice cream bonbons. Plus it came to just about $150/couple a night. Yep, life almost can't get much better than this (we're eating right next to the waterfall, goshdarnit):
BTW, the Marriott's idea of a breakfast includes make-your-own-waffles, eggs, sausages, bacon, oatmeal, fruit juice, coffee, toast, muffins, cold cereal, daily specials like biscuits&gravy, etc., etc. <burp>. Of course, you have to get your pies downstairs before 9am but oh well.
Ahoy...Space Needle ahead!
Tragic but true: on vacation but its still work-work-work.
How'd you like this Photoshop-stitched panorama? The shots were done sans tripod so it came out pretty good if I say so myself (and I do). It provided such entertainment for Himself, there'll be puh-lenty more panoramas later on. In fact, the glamour will probably pall by then. Prepare yourself.Elliott's: the Nirvana of Oysters
Linda discovered that contrary to common sense which dictates one steer clear of tourist traps like the plague, there's an Oyster Emporium Extraordinaire located on Pier 56. Strewth, Elliott's Oyster House sits on the waterfront next to such ubiquitous travel destinations as Simply Seattle souvenirs. Besides sporting a 21-foot oyster bar with a list updated twice daily (the complete list reads like a Who's Who of the bivalve mollusk world), the absolutely unparalleled draw of Elliott's is their Happy Hour: from 3-6pm, raw oysters cost 50¢ apiece (you read that right: FIFTY FRACKIN' CENTS EACH), going up a measly 20¢ every half hour. Were the four of us going to park our collective asses at the aforementioned bar, imbibe martoonis and down oyster after oyster? You betcha.With such a magnificent destination planned, we whiled away the early afternoon hours strolling downtown.
Gawdknows one needs sustenance to maintain one's energy while waiting so we stopped for a bite at the charming bistro, Bacco.
Wandered through an alley approaching Pike Place Market and espied one business sporting a unique exterior finish. And no, that's not Play-Doh.
Harkening back to his podunk roots, Himself stopped to purchase the most un-subtle touristy tee possible. Well, I suppose Himself could've done worse by getting one of those fish-tossing shirts with a suggestive phrase. I suppose.Then the magic hour(s) approached and we hastened down to the waterfront in anticipation of entering Nirvana. All said and done, we consumed 7 dozen oysters, who knows how many martinis and lurched out to the street for around 100 smackers including generous tip. That's for 4 (FOUR) people eating way more shellfish and drinking way more vodka than 4 (FOUR) people really should! If only Elliott's rented out sleeping bags and sleep masks, life would be p-e-r-f-e-c-t....
An empty martini glass is a sad sad sight... What you don't realize: this is the only one of 5 shots that wasn't blurry to the point of being unrecognizable or causing seasickness.
Himself hunted down two of the awesome shuckers (okay, I just had to say this: they were bad mothershuck--) (shut yo mouth) (a thousand pardons) who were taking a well-deserved smoke break...and perhaps resting their Carpel Tunneled wrists. They seemed a tad alarmed at being forced into a photo op, immediately scuttling back to the dark safety of their oyster bar.[Slight segue: we seem to have a Walrus theme tying together our Seattle trips. The last time, we wandered by the Arctic Club, a fabulous old hotel that was undergoing major renovation so we could only marvel at the exterior:
This trip, we went through the Looking Glass and tumbled down a rabbit hole to find Wonderland, the likes of which the Walrus and the Carpenter would certainly approve of. Certainly there were enough oysters for the both of them!Good thing the theme wasn't mushrooms...]It WAS rather shocking to exit Elliott's after almost besting our accumulated lifetimes' oyster ingestion in one sitting to find it was still daylight. What to do, what to do? Go back to the hotel, watch a movie, digest-digest-digest and then top the evening off with a snack, silly. Just so happens that right across the street from our hotel is Chandler's Cove with yet more seafood and drinks <belch>.
The Boyz are just funnin' with those stink sticks. If possible, Seattle is more paranoid about public smoking than the Bay Area.
Linda might be reaching her bursting point in 3...2...1.Jerry is verklempt at having to check out of our little slice o' heaven the next day.
He's SO dramatic.
November 23, 2008
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The New NEW Elixir of the Gods
It was both a sad and glad day in Mudville when LaurenKaz realized that, by golly, Diet Cokes really DO taste like a chemical stew. This revelation came about having imbibed a better Elixir of No-Sugar Goodness: Diet Hansen's Sodas. Current favs include Black Cherry (just the right mix of sweet&tart) and Creamy Root Beer (tastes like an RBF) (seriously).
No lie, they use bonafide and genu-wine Natural Flavors; in the case of CRB, ingredients include licorice root extracts, Madagascan vanilla, wintergreen and anise. WHOA. Given they're at the very end of the list, one can almost assume we're talking parts per billion = waving the ingredients over the cauldron, not unlike vermouth and martoonis.Lowdown: Diet Hansen's Sodas are sugar-free and aspartame-free; they contain no artificial colors or flavors, no sodium, no caffeine and no preservatives. Oh yeah...they're gluten free and dairy free.Are those last two items actually issues for diet sodas??!? Who'd a thunk.
Sammy Samperson Update(AKA: Sammich, Samurai, Samwise Gamgee, the Sam-ster)Its true: Sammy is a Superior Kitteh—not only darn-darn cute but perhaps even smarter than Tobiko...which is saying a lot (but don't tell Tobi; she's still my fav) (shhhh...and don't tell the others that little factoid) (my, our den is a hotbed o' secrets, ain't it?).Finally took Sammy in for his way overdue snip operation as we didn't want him to wander off (Eddie), pick fights (Mr. Shithead) or spray everything in sight (Jorge—and he came to us already neutered but "set in his ways"). Was reluctant to sabotage the rapport building with Sammy as it took F-O-R-E-V-E-R to get in some pets.
Figured he might come back from the spa totally pissed off but nothing could be farther from the truth: the lil feller is now a total lap fiend. Still fearless (is the only one who doesn't mind getting rolled by the massive Jorge when they're "playing") (everyone else runs away in abject terror...which is exactly what Jorge wants) and realizing the bully potential that kitties have.
The Rule of Paw: once you run, you're a victim so the object is to stand your ground and find someone weaker to pick on.
No Email. No Internet. No TV.NO. WAY.Its rather odd how many projectscancouldshould be completed when one is cut off, virtually speaking, from the outside world. You know: the projects always put on the back burner while something else "more important" (read: interesting, deadline or actual emergency) takes precedence. We had a confluence o' crap happen recently: server meltdown, burnt-out TV/TV-monitor combos...all conspiring to make one focus on non-tech shtuff.Like updating one's Xanga after several months and blithely posting (after access returned, natch) with ne'er an explanation. Will follow up later...promise!
So here's the really puzzling aspect of gaining Quality Project Time: still not completing much more than before. Go figure.
July 11, 2008
July 10, 2008
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Crap Television—How Do I Love Thee? Part Deuxokay-okay-okay-okay-okay-okay-okay-okay-okay-okay-okay-okay...so gojeannie was absolutely RIGHT...dangitBurn Notice turns out to be an awesome show. Been trying to avoid getting sucked into Yet Another Series but USA Network had a 4th of July marathon, the scrubs. Our frackin' TiVO managed to NOT save the premiere ep (boo) but Himself and I watched enough to get roped into a well-done series with decent character development, storylines, répartée and a refresh of a great premise = covert operative gets shafted by his own agency and must clear his name...after figuring out who actually burned him. You know: pretty much the same premise as The Prisoner except BN is set in Miami and not some wacky Welsh village called Portmeirion which must've been architected by someone on LSD. Seriously.
Ooops. I digressed.
Anyhoo, here's our hero Michael Westen (played by Jeffrey Donovan) and OMGs, that's Caprica Six/Natalie (Trish Helfer) of Battlestar Galactica sitting next to him...yikes! Michael is ably aided and abetted by his sizzling ex-IRA ex-girlfriend, Fiona (Gabrielle Anwar). She is refreshingly—how do we put this?—brutal and unsentimental, showing an almost knee-jerk response to violence with greater violence; the perfect foil to Michael's cool control. In fact, she can pretty much kick the ass ofanyevery male even though she's no bigger than this <holds up baby finger>. Michael's faithful sidekick is Sam, a former Navy SEAL who is played by none other than Bruce Campbell. You know: THE Bruce Campbell.Trapped in time. Surrounded by evil. Low on gas.
1 Man, 1 Million dead, The odds are just about even.
They move. They breathe. They suck.
Sound the trumpets, raise the drawbridge, and drop the Oldsmobile
In an age of darkness. At a time of evil. When the world needed a hero. What it got was him.You HAFTA know this one:Shop smart. Shop S-Mart.Yo DO know what I'm talking about....right? Right? Sheesh.Short SegueMust share a couple of the E! Online gems they are so infamously known for:
Tilda's Ta-Da!Somewhere in Reno, a magician is looking for his dove cage cover. Tilda Swinton's sequined jacket at the L'Uomo Vogue 40th anniversary party is fantastically hideous, even by her standards. Worse yet, the coat gives way to high-water pants and stiltlike sandals—making us wonder if she knew we'd drown her outfit in criticism. Make it disappear!So is just it me or do you agree that Tilda was a superlative choice for the White Witch? Well okay, for purists (and I be's one), she doesn't quite resemble the Pauline Baynes illustrations. But to find someone with such an austere, almost androgynous and intensely feral demeanor in today's thespian-wannabe stable of fou-fou girly-girls is quite refreshing!
Old-School?Nick, Joe and Kevin Jonas attend the Camp Rock premiere in New York looking like they’re auditioning for a Tears for Fears biopic (ask your parents). Skinny ties?! Shiny suits?! White shoes?! It’s a good thing they travel en masse, or these kids would get their skinny asses handed to them by some hesher freak (ask your parents).I have to confess that I looked up "hesher freak" due to lingo ignorance (and the search results were somewhat nebulous). I think it might've been more fitting to work in a snarky reference to Tiger Beat Magazine but.....OMDG, its still in publication! AND the frackin' Jonas Bros appear as #2 for their site links:
BTW, the same comment about fou-fou girly-girls applies to them. I don't claim to know much about the Jonas Bros; just seen their name(s) bandied about in relation to Miley Montana/Hanna Cyrus/Billy Ray Living-Vicariously-Thru-His-Daughter (that's his tribal name, FYI).More Crap Television candidates in the next installment...
July 7, 2008
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Crap Television—How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways...Earlier this year, LaurenKaz was recovering from—get this—NOT the previously referred-to car accident but a frackin' MRSA, the antibiotic-resistent Strep infection. This was a by-product of a knee laceration caused, yes, by the accident but 3 months afterwards? Seriously WTF?!? Here's what I recommend about physical therapy to aid injury recovery: FGI (Fergit It). Two things can happen to you by hanging around a place that rehabs high school and college athletes:- You end up suffering way more than necessary due to the exertion needed to look like you're effortlessly working out. Surrounded by (primarily) males of the species who are in the prime—PRIME, I tell ya—shape of their lives. one feels compelled to suck in anything possible, try not to huff&puff or otherwise appear like you're not really as flabby as you feel. Still haven't figured out how to reduce the shiny, dripping red-faced look to cool nonchalance. Also think I pulled at least a couple of muscles sucking the gut in.- These rehab centers are actually Ground Zero for bacteria and other infectious agents: a warm, moist (jacuzzi in the adjoining torture chamber--er, room) environment with no wiping down of equipment and treatment tables. My nurse mentioned that MRSA incidents are up for athletes, especially in contact sports like wrestling.....eeewwwwww. Go figure.Hence, my theory: I was made sick by the very treatment that was supposed to help me. And if you consider I got the MRSA after only 2 measly visits, it translates to a neon sign that should be posted above the door pronto: Abandon every hope, who enter here.Seriously.Anyways, the month of recovery meant fried brains du jour. Unable to concentrate on any of the gadzillion books I've purchased over the years, I turned to....yes.....Crap Television. Nothing eats up the hours quite like mind-numbing brain candy. Here's a recap of some of my favs (some are way old):Randy Jackson Presents: America's Best Dance Crew (Season 1): introduced me to the amazing talent that is the JabbaWockeeZ.
Precise, intricate movements; concise group choreography with incredible individual talent shining through—even past their trademark white face masks. They deserved to win as they kept raising the bar each week, executing more difficult routines and offering unmatched showmanship.Was also blown away by Kaba Modern, an all-Asian crew from UC Irvine (yes, IRVINE) of 3 guys and 3 gals (I can hear Tommy hollering, "REPRESENT!") (yep...Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Korean):
Last but not least, hafta mention BreakSk8 who can pop and lock like the best of them while on frackin' ROLLER SKATES...completely mind-boggling!
But here's the real reason this show was near and dear to my heart: Shane Sparks and his verdicts. After awhile, Lil Mama sounded like she'd just taken a huge toke and diarrhea'd something out of her mouth (space cadet!). JC Chasez must've got his ass kicked by SS and LM after each and every show for being a total dumbass. Shane? Oh he just kept getting better and better:- Y'all SICK- Y'all ILL- Y'all REPRESENT- Y'all SMASHED itMore Crap Television candidates in the next installment...
July 2, 2008
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Aye-Aye Caramba!
That would be an aye-aye, as in lemur, to us common folk. Yes indeedy, there was a baby aye-aye born at the SF Zoo on June 20 or 21 or thereabouts. The exact date is not the only mystery surrounding this little bundle of joy:- the sex is unknown- they didn't even know the female was preggers until baby arrived- this is only the second time an aye-aye has been born in captivity to parents also captive-bred- it takes 2-3 hours for aye-ayes to copulate...the chances for a hit&miss are astronomical!Gotta say that Baby Aye-Aye does closely resemble an extra from the Mos Eisley bar scene in "Star Wars." The original, of course, silly—in fact, the one and only especially since they subjected us to Hayden Christensen, the "lake on Naboo" plus Jar-Jar Binks in the so-called prequels. Which are actually travesties...travesties, I tell you.But I digress.Anyways, here's a shot of Baby Opie who is a whole helluva lot cuter than the unfortunate prosimian above:
Himself was quite the Marsupial Hunter, bravely catching snaps of our guest as Baby Opie settled into the shower room.Of course, Himself just couldn't leave well enough alone so we will close with the next shot:
And no—I don't believe Baby Opie was saying, "Goodnight, John-Boy" at this particular moment. But that's just a guess on my part.
June 30, 2008
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Random Thoughts...Dumb Blonde? Eh...Not So MuchA couple of our boys are cream tabbies—they start out orange-ish in kittenhood but the color fades as they grow and whalla! they become blonde in both appearance AND cognitive powers. Yes, there are indeed stereotypes in the feline world. While they usually excel in the No Brains-No Headache department, there are occasional bouts of clarity when they demonstrate there's something more between the ears than mere Fancy Feast receptors.And what's this? Mr Noodj perched on top of the bookcase, looking like an observer on the deuxième étage of la Tour Eiffel. [And no—before you ask—this is not the IZ's version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, merely the photographer listing to starboard. We weren't consciously trying for the Travel Channel look.] What could possibly incite such a strenuous undertaking from someone not known for his agility?
Aha...there's gold in them thar hills!
Or at least a pair o' perfectly cooked (i.e., practically moo-ing) ribeyes.
How Noodj was planning to secure the ribeyes since he was missing his crampons, pitons, carabiners, etc. will never be known as his furry ass was booted off said bookcase shortly after the photo op.Our New HP PhotoSmart C6250Its the all-encompassing color printer-slash-copier-slash-scanner-slash-hairballer carried at CostCo for a measly $150!
Okay, kidding about the last item. We ROVE our new printer anyways!The World Can Be a Scary PlaceEspecially if you're a lil feller who doesn't know the ropes and is way smaller than all the other kittehs.
We speaketh in particular of the Ever-Expanding Jorge, aka The Bully.
Guess these factoids are not about to stop the Sam-ster....CHARGE!
Cripes, he noticed—WHISK! Feet, don't fail me now!
I know, I know. This Xanga has degenerated into nothing but feline musings. If I told you what I was up to lately, though, you'd REALLY be bored. Seriously.Promise to step up the adventure pace!
June 27, 2008
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Congrats to Jeannie and Tommy!After much anticipation, the ginormously BIG ANNOUNCEMENT! was finally revealed on gojeannie's Xanga! Whew—thought I was gonna bust waiting for this...And in a similar vein, Himself and I have a not-quite-so significant proclamation. After, Baby N will be their first but ours is the next in a series.Just the FAQs, ma'am:1) Were you planning?Yes and no. You'd think that with all of the effort made towards prevention, we wouldn't be blessed with another little mouth to fud, wouldn't you? However, the Real World dictates that we have absolutely no control over our destinies. And if you saw the slavishly interminable operation that occurs twice a day just to stuff these mouths, you'd have to agree.2) Do you know the sex?Nope, not yet. But we'll probably know in a couple of weeks...or not. We'll definitely know before he/she is 6 months old, though.Seriously mandatory, if you catch my drift.3) Are you experiencing "morning sickness"?Nope, never felt better. Might be experiencing sympathy pregnancy weight gain for gojeannie, however.Hey, it works as an explanation for moi.4) When are you due?Due for what?5) How much time are you taking off work?What is work? Is it the constant struggle to keep the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few (Himself and moi) or the one (moi)? I feel an existential Sartriennes (or is it Spockian?) observation coming on but will cut it short in order to not bore the pants off of my audience (all 2 of you).So without further ado, may I present Sam:
Although Sam is and of itself a very fine monniker, we opted for it because of the androgynous nature of said name. You know—like Pat, Terry, Leslie, Lynn...even Lauren. But at least Sam sounds masculine (can any of those previous names say the same?) (okay, okay—so I was called "Lorne Green" in school) or cutely feminine.Riiiiiiight.
June 22, 2008
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And the point being...?Yes folks—it was time for the World's Ugliest Dog contest this weekend at the Sonoma-Marin Fair in Northern California. This year's "winner" was Gus, the 3-legged, one-eyed, hairless pedigree Chinese crested from St Petersburg, FL. I know, I know: ALL of the winners seem to hail from this blighted breed so one has to wonder if this contest has become more of a shooting-fish-in-a-barrel event. Geezle, the owner of said winner gets 500 smackers AND an appearance on "CBS This Morning" in NY plus the contest will be aired on Animal Planet in October. ACK! Apparently, the 15 minutes o' fame is way worth more than the cost of airfare and lodging in order to secure this esteemed position. I'd almost have to guess the JonBenét Parental Syndrome is in effect but that's just me.
WHOA. Yoda as a 60's Love Child @ Woodstock. Groovy!
The caption says, "Heather Peoples of Phoenix holds her Chinese Crested dog named Archie before the start of the 20th [editor's comment: 20th! Gadz!] annual Ugliest Dog Competition..." Yes, one could query which of the subjects is Heather but that would be feeding into the Shooting-Fish-In-A-barrel aspect of this event and one will forebear. One has a modicum of dignity after all.
Yarite.
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