C utterly humiliated himself to get me the Return of the King Extended Edition. About 15 irate customers were standing with their arms crossed in front of an empty bin at Target. C led the charge by going through 2 employees and a manager. He pleaded- he really needed to get the DVD for his "step daughter".



While walking about Oakland with Clay the UI guy, we heard a few squeals coming out of the back of a pickup. 3 piglets oinking away- poor things. Pigs have a remarkably similar end. Clay tried thrice to get a cuter image but was stalled by bad UI on his cellphone.

Start of the Rains



Every week I listen to bbc Radio 4's GTQ- Gardener's Question Time. My favorite part is when the show ends and just before they cut off the webcast, a female british voice quips in with the U.K. weather report. It is seemingly always terrible in Cumbria, foggy, cold and drizzly; it makes me think of teapots full of fragrant tea kept piping hot by a ridulously floral quilted tea cozy.

Winter Draught



All summer I was slugging carrot juice halfed with almond milk. This month, I am all about eggnog lassi, just the store bought egg nog swished with dollops of the fattiest yogurt one can find. Must have it every night while I cozy about the fire. If you think back to all the foods you ate with such enthusiasm in past, perhaps a pork rice with stewed eggs or cinnamon dusted snickerdoodles, you may marvel how one's taste could change.



This morning I felt like a used tea bag, all slumped over. Year end blues, not uncommon. All this cold and shivering. I try to side with Wallace Shawn in my Dinner with Andre. Electric blanket is a marvelous thing to lift one's spirits.

Fish Taco Alert



It's rare to come across tasty fish tacos so when it happens, it's occasion for sharing the gladness. The hard part is that one never knows which taqueria is hiding tasty fish tacos, so you have to suffer through a great many bad ones. Cactus Cafe on Solano has revamped their menus adding the best fish tacos I've eaten thus far (discounting homemade ones with halibut cheeks and such). Just fresh rock cod topped with cucumber salsa. Fresh and tasty is all one could desire of a fish taco. I'll take a picture tomorrow.



Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote when her house burnt down (or maybe hail ruined her crops or some such disaster) that there is no great loss without some small gain. I've been numb all week about the election, but found some small satisfaction in Ashcroft getting the boot.



Most contested death of the week:

"He is dead," one Palestinian source said. "He died after bleeding in the brain began last night. His bodyguards started hugging and kissing and telling each other to be strong."

Been snickerdoodle crazy all month.



I walk eight blocks everyday from my desk to pick up my fix. Buttery chewiness dusted with cinnamon- afternoon work simply cannot proceed withtout one. Yesterday I brought home two planning a double snickerdoodle date. But I just could not wait so I made an early start on half a cookie. I firmly told C that this did not mean he can have 1.5. An hour later, I notice all 1.5 cookies gone. Wha Happen? C quite innocently said "You told me 'I'm only going to have half and you can eat the other half' so I did."

Two x Mouthfuls



I had a plausible fantasy fanned by last week's heat wave that I could snorkel one last time this year. Larry generously offered his Mendocino wood shack- he said take as much firewood as we lug away. All signs pointed to a marvelous one last dunk of 2004. Sadly I did not even get a toe wet as intrepid divers C and G first went out in the water only to came back defeated. No use snorkeling in pea soup. As a consolation there was no small amount of chicken pot pie, smoked ham sandwich, a most figgy fig tartlet, quince cheesecake, plump carrot cake- all from the excellent Boonville General Store. Also we licked the year's first batch of Cowlick's pumpkin icecream along with the novel candy cap mushroom icecream. So C and I returned with belly's properly full and a truckload of free wood.



To continue consoling myself over the stolen snorkel, I met Sof for a Frog Hollow Sunday brunch of Tomato pancetta turnover, sausage frittata, pear tartlet, peach tartlet and the requisite blackberry buttons. All buttery mouthfuls were exactly what I had been missing in Italy. We were promptly regretful we had stuffed ourselves after seeing the caviar sampler on display; I had forgotten how to food hop at the Ferry Building. So we exerted ourselves mightily climbing up Coit tower to ready our appetites for a second wave. I highly recommend the American caviar sampler(Hackleback Sturgeon, Pearl Trout, and various whitefish) from Tsar Nicoulai's Caviar Bar. Not too decadent at all. Lumps of caviar on a dollop of creme fraiche on buckwheat blinis. What can be more lovely than that popping of salty roe in one's mouth.



Sof got ambitious and wanted to go for the raw oyster bar, but I sagely stopped such excess and drove us straight to dessert. But nothing was quite suitable so we went with the overrated pates de fruits from Recchiuti. I missed out on "the dazzling flavors of fresh fruit burst from each elegant square". I took a few obligatory nibbles of each flavor but was not compelled to do anything more. So we took another stab at dessert with a little manchego and fig cake. And still something was still lacking so we carefully shaved the sides of a chocolate cherry torte which I had gotten for C . Nothing tastes as good as pilfered food even after a long day of eating.



I had expected to eat better than this traveling through Italy. While gems were found here and there- zucchini blossom tempura, flavorful saltimbocca, world's best panna cotta ever, beautifully cooked turbot, some lovely house cured porcini- I could not manage to sustain a full long day of wonderful varied eating as today. So I am grateful I live where many people take their eating quite seriously.



(Dear Reader, I swear nothing that exciting happened in Italy hence no entries or photos. Okay, okay. I've been junking my brain out on Netflix dvds instead of the infinitely more pleasurable activity of writing. But I swear to you I'm back on the bloggery. )

Hobbiting About



Finally revealed myself in public bearing my hobbit costume to work on Friday. I had worried all night about the most fitting hobbitty coat. I didn't want to introduce any Colonial costume confusion but all my coat choices simply said "Paul Revere". While I was picking up a dozen pumpkin-cranberry rolls, a homeless dude pushing a can cart on San Pablo had the most beautiful green waistcoat which was really meant for me.



It's not so bad having people incorrectly peg you as a fantasy nerd(I'm not!!! Really!!!). More humiliating is the fact 3 separate people told me they couldn't remember if my ears were always that big. Okay okay, probably all you want to see is a photo. Gavin contributed a pipe out of a gnarled bamboo root.

My Italian holiday with Sof is drawing near. My bags are packed and my bandaid kit complete- only one thing remains. I've been struggling to find an appropriate patron saint for our Italian expedition, an absolute must going into any Catholic country. Our patron saint must be vaguely Italian so we are sure to run into his/her images.



Here are the possible candidates:

1. Expeditus- against procrastination, expeditious solutions, merchants, navigators, prompt solutions



2. Rita of Cascia, long suffering nun who patronizes desperate, forgotten, impossible or otherwise lost causes as well as against loneliness, against sterility, bodily ills, difficult marriages, widows, wounds



3. Sebastien. He has a heavy plate of patronizing:archers, armourers, arrowsmiths, athletes, bookbinders, diseased cattle, dying people, enemies of religion, fletchers, gardeners, Huelva, Spain, iron mongers, lacemakers, laceworkers, lead workers, masons, plague, police, racquet makers, Rio de Janeiro, soldiers, Spanish police officers, stone masons, stonecutters

Noone seems quite right.

Hard Working Hudgebend



While I was hanging out with Caroline slurping oysters at Point Reyes, lolling about in the sand, trying not to strut my stuff in the Castro(why bother when you get out-gayed at every turn), C was working hard at home. The thought of romping about in Italy with Sof next month while C works hard at home... Half honey, half vinegar.



Joel Update: JBen(who also bought one of C's gorillas) stuffed a full unsliced lemon in Joel's pants during dinner with a couple of collectors. I think Joel might have been improvidently going on about ball implants- latest fad in Miami. Even when Joel emphatically gestures "I'm not a faaaagggg!", one look at his girly pants and... I suppose it's no fun to be a false positive.



I'm munching on a few carrots to get used to healthy eating, but there happened to be nob of butter hanging out on the table- all room temperature soft. Not bad. I imagine if I cooked them together it could be quite heavenly, but raw is not bad either.

Politically I'm getting a wee bit nervous. C says McCain has been cozying up with Bush more than usual. What if Bush gets the smart idea and balls to dump Cheney? Republicans run this country, just not Berkeley.

Bandaids against raisin smuggling...

I spent a perfectly good afternoon procuring bandaids to complete my emergency medical kit. The last major trip where my medical kit played a starring role- Tahiti. Sof advised if I didn't wan't to bother wearing a bra, one could simply wear a four bandaids- 2 X's if you know what I mean. So I packed an impressive supply of bandaids as I am not keen on raisin smuggling. My poor feet unused to wearing flip-flops were so cut up that the band-aids served their medical purpose after all and I never had a chance to test out Sof's hypothesis. So I have become very serious about traveling with a horde of bandaids. I've always traveled with a serious medical kit since grad school. The one time I vowed to travel in a relaxed manner without the kit- visiting Suse in Tucson- I promptly fell on a hiking path and scraped my hand. I had to sop up the blood with a dirty twice used tissue. Nothing went gangrenous of course.

So back to Elephant pharmacy and the dreaded selection of bandaids. Complicated, no? I briefly contemplated getting SpongeBob SquarePants which Sof would have said "so cute so cute", but I wisely chose antiseptic ones and also the new fangled latex ones which boasts dressage for 7 days. Big J- the expert in such matters -dismissed those claims as she has proven in practice they peel off on the finger easily after frequent contact with water. She said liquid skin which polymerized on contact was strictly the way to go.

I fell asleep at midnight salivating over a tome on the history of pioneer cuisine, but I bolted up at one in the morning hearing a terrible sqawking. Coon or possum or cat threatening me livestock. I ran out with a broom. I had forgotten to board up the chickens; Pattrice was angrily chewing out the interloper. I had such a fright (C away in Mendocino, oh no what would he think if I let the chickens get eaten) that as I was running inside the chicken zone, Pattrice slipped past my legs. She promptly ran to the deck and tried to look inside the bedroom to see C, the chicken man, was inside. I had a terrible time convincing the ladies to go back in the coop and go to bed. Peanut bribery was of no avail as the chickens were freaked out as well. I read about the Healdsburg woman who left her kids in a car for 8 hours. Now I can't seem to go to sleep...

Foggy days of August





I cut my middle finger on my mouse hand in a bbq injury- the world is ever a dangerous place says Tom Ridge- so I was not useful for anything except uploading garden photos.

Long Winter and Crow Pie

Dear Reader. Where did we leave off. Yes bacon. My porky inclinations took me to a revival of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Little Suse sprang a surprise visit on me last weekend and of course we had to go to the library and raid the self-help section. It's less humiliating I find to borrow such books then have to buy them. Less since you can be rid of them more discreetly than having to sell a copy of "How Do You Know A Man is Right For You" for two bucks on Amazon. Since I can never bring myself to check out just self-help books at the library (even though they were really for Suse), I gave my pile a little more respectability adding a volume from the Little House on the Prairie series.

Ah pioneer life. There is a lot of fond narrative revolving around salted pork, and sitting around cozy inside a cabin snug as a bug while winter storms rage about. How could I resist. I ordered the Little House on the Prairie Cookbook on line so C can also enjoy the flavors of pioneer life. Now if he can shoot down a few plump crows devastating our crops....

Starting the Day Right with Bacon

Yesterday a friend of mine sadly reported that she had excess levels of cholesterol; the doctor advised her to clamp down on her diet and get retested. If things don't improve, she will have to go on medication- this at the tender age of thirty. So yesterday I told C similarly I should clean up my act, no more gratuitous greasy goodies for me!

Wednesday is free breakfast day at work. That's when they bring in boxes of donuts, bagels, cream puffs, and the odd bran muffin. If plum forgot about this table of free food and ran to the ABC Bakery across the street. ABC is the classic modern Chinese bakery with corn mayonnaise buns. Lo and behold, they had a brand new item, the bacon mayonnaise wonder in a hotdog bun, one slice of tomato, one slice of cuke. What can a girl do.

Doublebooked.



Saturday C and I were slated for 2 parties back to back. It happens once in a while to social inch worms likes us. The first sparkled in a snazzy SoMa loft involving 3 gay men and Celine Dion. Brian, the sweet host, complimented me- I think- and announced I garnished just like a gay man. Basil and mint sprigs always come in handy I find. It was Steve's birthday dinner and Steve was cooking. I was quite worried dinner preparations were not progressing to completion- I only had cake for lunch at Crixa where I had picked up his birthday cake. When I go to parties, food takes top priority you know; one could chat after the food. The excruciating serious and slow simmering on the stove convinced me to take matters into my own hands. I peeled pounds of shrimp at record speeds to make any Asian grandma proud. I showed Steve how to fluff rice as one should never serve unfluffed rice to guests. Before long, hot piping food were set in bowls. Brian did a fantastic Liberace rendition of Happy Birthday on his Steinway grand. We sang, we ate. I had Celine songs stuck in my head all the next day.



The second party involved a full ukelele band and oyster bake at the Berkeley Oakland border. You know the house on San Pablo with a huge, I mean hoooge Love John Kerry sign. I was there slurping down oysters Saturday and then an impromptu leftover BBQ tonight.

Lesbian Avengers and the T.W.A.T. Team*



Spent last weekend at my sis-in-law's wedding chockful of militant lesbians. Despite good intentions, I suspect topless activism is never a good idea. Think of the last time public nipple exposure has brought positive social change to the world. Hmmm. Yes. I guess Ghandi often fasted topless.





*The T.W.A.T. Team is no bad pun on my part but once name for the DC chapter of the Lesbian Avengers.

Butter breakfast and return of the Hudgebend



With C away to L.A., Ms Amanda and I go for butter breakfast at Tartine in the Mission. The dreamy creamy coconut cream pie! Can life get any better. I cry- it was better than the pie of our imaginations with surprise chocolate lining and soft caramel hiding at the bottom. After two bites, I shamefully forgot all about my current favorite the Crixa Boston Creampie. But I now I have to run back to Crixa to do a taste comparison.



C had gone to attend the closing gala of the L.A. Independent Film Festival as he had designed a poster for them; Doug used this opportunity to squeeze 6 free tickets out of them. I refused to go as me and Doug, we are like the fox, the goose and the sack of grain- plus I had Butter Breakfast to attend. Doug had 2 copies of the poster at the gallery and requested C sign them. C asked what Doug wanted written, and Doug said "With Love, Chris. Just like Andy used to..." C said slowly "Andy? Andy Goldsworthy?" Although Doug was insulted, he said "Uh yeah. Andy Goldsworthy." But then Doug's pride couldn't withstand it so he said "Uh no. Andy Warhol."* I think cheap shots don't get you anywhere, but Joel was ever proud C slyly showed Doug.





*No insult to anyone who likes Andy Goldsworthy, but in the world of fine art, Goldsworthy is for housewives and the like.

Badasses vs the DuWAL Club



While waiting for our Picante takeout, a tough bald guy in leather pants and leather vest, moustache and mirrored sunglasses walked past me really slowly giving me the badass look. I had my suspicious porkpie hat on so I put my chin out and gave him my best "eyes under the brim" look. Then I practiced my Vin Diesel imitations. I kept looking over my left shoulder firming up my jaws to a menacing grimace. I figure it might come in handy at work tomorrow. C was not impressed, but what does he know about being a badass action hero.



C keeps threatening to start an official DuWAL Dudes with Asian Ladies club. Berkeley and the bay area is generally littered with such pairs although LaWADs are harder to spot. Every time we go anywhere, C tortures me with "Check it out. A DuWAL!" right in front of the unsuspecting parties. Or even worse, he mutters "Tut tut, does not know the joys of being a full DuWAL" when he sees a dude with a lady of mixed heritage. Gross! Why do guys love embarrassing their ladies in public at the expense of themselves? I swear these deviant behaviors did not emerge until we were safely married.

Pizza Jazz



Even if life doesn't always go your way and mean dogs nip at your heels, it's nice to put on a jazz cd and lie down on the couch. I bought the Cheese Board recordings for Big J and I've been just listening to it all this week, a real rough one to be sure- the week I mean. The CD is a treasure. You can hear the clanging of pizza pans and people ordering half pies along with the top notch jazz. I think I'll support a few more musicians and buy a few more copies.



C surprised me with a Boston cream pie and slice of pave. It took me such a long time to recognize a suspicious box with red magic markered hearts, C just shook his head and baldly pointed it out to me. When everything else is rough waters outside, there is nothing like cake and a hug for dinner. Much better than a lonely shot of whiskey.



I saw photos of the parents of the Korean man who was beheaded at work today. I think I held my heart a few minutes. Despite all that goes terrible in the world, I just have the jazz today.

Summer Solstice



Tomorrow, Monday is the longest day of the year, and after that it's all a slow march to winter. I was busily chopping wood and if I had pouches in my cheeks, they would be full of nuts.



C and I got the semi Berkeley feel at Amanda's Summer Solstice Potluck Picnic. We were instructed to write on slips of paper what we wanted to grow and what we wanted to prune; metaphorically that is although I did wrote Okinawa purple sweet potatoes after crossing out okra. Then each person jumped over the fire after throwing the note in the flames. As expected, noone's shorts caught on fire. For the full Berkeley feel, there needs to be a moon dance and some nakedness involved- I think.



Larry Update: C borrowed a jackhammer from Larry who borrowed it from the tough guy neighbor to drill out our sidewalk in completion of a very grave matter. A few months back, Larry had seemed skeptical and amused when I explained to him the necessity of moving the entrance to the side and blocking/diverting potential bad feng shui in the front with a dry rock wall. But today, Larry silently reappeared wearing sound blockers and wordlessly helped C pry out pieces of cement. That Larry is alright!



Italy Update: Sof and I finally got our tickets in order. We started out right with a few cakes at Crixa- the Boston Cream Pie is mmmm mmm fabulous. We settled on flying to Rome with Continental in case we might snag first class upgrades. Then to reward ourselves for all the hard work, we gobbled up a few figs and blueberries while C pried, gutted, pounded and barbequed abalone. I invited Wolf since his lady is away, and he ate very delicately and in small nibbles. I asked him if he knew any cute but straight single men for Sof. He had to think very hard, then he said, "Hmm. That is a hard one. I do know someone who's just gotten divorced..."

Weekend Midwiving



C finally made use of his home-made spear gun and brought home a pair of perch along with the regulation limit of abalones. Perch rove in numerous schools about the kelp forest so one just snorkels above to pick out the fattest juiciest ones. While cleaning the plumper one, C noticed a little one popping out. Who doesn't get excited at discovering perch are live bearing. Massaging the belly with his index finger, C coaxed out a few more. C was so excited he yelled for me. After about 12 more still births, I just went inside the house. The perch held 22 in all, a feast for the chickens.

Today on Bart I saw a girl with really messy but cute pig tails. I just wanted to yank on them.

I suppose if I behaved exactly as I like with other people, I would have given swift kicks to the nuts belonging to a great many men I work with. Okay okay just a handful. Okay okay just a pinch on the arm. So much simpler than verbal whipping and point better taken. But our society doesn't take nut kicking kindly. Since this is my blog, I can talk tough all I want.

Pastiche Pie & Encouraging Neurogenesis



Yes writer's block. I really want to hear some Disco Shawn or Mon Amie but instead get bad retro with Velvet Einstein on KALX. C made me a mug of gingerbread tea with milk so I'm only getting cozy thoughts involving home decoration instead of sharp ones which strain the muscles in the frontal lobe.



Larry update. Our neightbor Larry, massage therapist and general relaxed guy, told C we can borrow his cabin in Mendocino anytime. Everyone should have a neighbor named Larry.



Gleaned from junking out on the web:

"bloated buildings, filled with a thousand superfluities"

in reference to private houses skimmed from nyt on sprawl.

Snorkel gods of Chongos Zamoranos

I was hunting about in a coastal Mendocino grocery shop when I spotted this baby. I said hmm, $5.95 for a can in the middle of nowhere, it must be really really special. Hmm, I must put this in my basket.



Chongos has 4 ingredients milk,sugar,cinnamon, rennet although it should be really only 3 - sugar, rubber, and squeak. The clotted bits squeak while you chew; the sugar enough to give one diabetes. I just hung my head in shame for forcing my friends to eat this weird rubbery dairy treat. It could have been heaven in a can, for which I am willing to go through any amount of excitement.



I have this imminent feeling I might eat a fine dessert any minute, but instead I sit down to faithfully report my snorkel adventures to you dear reader. I really wanted warm bread pudding but sadly I've only got the leftover can of squeaky Chongos Zamoranos waiting for me.



So many a reason why one shouldn't dip one's body and toe in the Pacific ocean around here. When one shivers and huddle for warmth on the beaches during the summer, it does not seem advisable to plunk in and enjoy shivering and huddling wet in the water. Plus what could possibly be seen down there in the murky milky waters- probably kelp and more kelp- who hasn't already seen the tangle which washes upon shore. Th last reason had to do with renting a suit as my 3 mil suit won't do; a cold water suit should be at least a respectable 7 mil. I am suspicious of dive suit rentals since everyone pees in their suits. C said I could just wear his 3 mil suit on top of my 3 mil suit; I worried cold water would flush the areas which are loose in the wrong places. Ladies, if you are wearing a man's dive suit, it definitely is loose about the crotch. C had bought me a new hoodie and gloves, and had sweetly put them in a brown paper bag with hearts around my name so I could not not go in the water now.



The sheer visual delight of snorkeling in Russian Gulch made all my worries quite silly. All covered body parts were toasty and snug, visibility was an unexpected 30 feet. I was happily surprised by the underwater seascape of iridescent kelp, eel grass, pink coral forests. I told C and Gavin to go away to their abalone diving while I cruised the reefs alone. I trippily floated along the undulations of the kelp trying to catch their bluish purple iridescence. There is no freedom like buoyancy. And when I finally was forced to beach, it was not the cold but queasiness.



But one and last reason for a cold water dive- nothing tastes better than food eaten after a cold water dive.

Cake for lunch



My life has as of late become a run-on sentence, prepositional clause after prepositional clause and unfinished intentions. This can happen when you let punctuation occur too naturally. There is one solution for such a condition: to indulge in a meal composed entirely of cakes from the best bakery in town. One must find a partner in crime, not easy these days as no one is proud of pudge even if it's pudge from the finest buttery treats one could eat. Big J, my natural partner, is 3000 miles away so S, my icecream partner at work, happily obliged me this Friday noon.



Crixa cakes has upseated Massa's for being best bakery in town. Massa's is all about stiff buttery treats, but sometimes a girl wants to enjoy without too much chewage. So lunch was all about

1. ginger cake(moist and solid)

2. apple walnut cake(ditto)

3. chocolate rum quad layer cake (pushing up type b diabetes in the bay area)

4. frou frou almond rose concoction (for some lace underwear lady out there, but nobody at the table)

5. obligatory pave (still fabulous as ever)

6. coconut tapioca (no chewing, but topping of toasted coconut and shaved almonds might have pushed it over the top)



Between mouthfuls of cake and dollops of fresh whipped cream , I was trying to convince S to reserve running shoes for running and get more hip shoes. This is all in the name of upping his gay appeal. S is a fine fellow to be sure but looking like a dorky young dad about to go to the gym is no way to attract a gay soulmate. Grubby running shoes are universal deal breakers, gay or not gay.



C, who is now officially on a diet(my own hudgebend saying no to butter can you believe it) also met us just to sip coffee. He was poo-pooing my expertise on all such matters demanding pedigree and experience. C didn't believe I understood the rules of attraction between gay men. Come on. I so know all about it! I apprenticed under the original expert on all human nature, EJ. Even S appeared to have been convinced for the need for upgrading to casual stylish gay apparel. Clean clothes never hurt the cause.



*On a bizarre side note, our executive admin came to my desk asking me if I wanted what looked like a wrinkly never worn white shirt with the yellowed price tag still hanging off it's exaggerated cuffs. They had been cleaning out the closet and found this thing with frill ties hiding in a box; none of the guys in the near area would own up to having anything to do with it. I told her I was "not pirate enough" to be it's new owner.

Ode to greasy grease-soaked lumps of greasy goodness



C and I ventured to dine at India Chaat and Sweets- you know the place, that bad karma location on University and 8th. Masala dosa was a'ight but all else came straight from deep fry double fry hell. Greasiness is not a crime unto itself- who hasn't relished funnel cake fried up in oil of dubious origin*- but greasiness combined with stale and dry, it's evil to make people waste their grease points that way. Had I any balls, I would have promptly thrown the fish pakoras back to the kitchen yelling in my best old lady Chinese voice "I no eat refry leftover from buffet. I no pay for this. I not even feed to my chiken. You bad restaurant! Baaaadd! Bu hao bu hao!" But since C and I are gentle folk, we paid 14% tip and left without a word.



*I always get good fuzzy feelings thinking about funnel cake. I've been fortunate enough to enjoy it's greasy goodness no less than thrice total in my short life. Funnel cake has unjustly held fantasy food status in my imagination due to the sheer rarity of encountering it. I even think a dream date somehow involves enjoying funnel cake together. (Since C doesn't even read this blog, what's the point sigh...) Oh funnel cake, will I ever meet you again.

Sweet Art of Napping & a Visit to Mistress Blacksnips



I declare there is no sweeter sleep than can be had on a porch swing on a breezy Sunday afternoon. Sweet even when someone keeps sneaking up on you to pluck out a leg hair while you innocently snooze; I attribute such dangers to wearing capris without shaving one's legs.



This weekend I've finally gotten my napping system down. Front chaise lounge under the canopy for luncheon nap. Back porch swing under the shade for mid afternoon nap. Now that the chickens are safe under lockdown, I can nap in the back yard without fear of me eyes being pecked. Leg hair pluckers are a minor nuisance compared to Patrice's beak.



I took my front rose bushes to Mistress Blacksnips for some well needed discipline. Roses in the back go to a gentler Mistress Greensnips. Of all the gardening tasks, I'm a most serious pruner constantly on the prowl for scraggly growth. Plants are never afraid to grow.

Plum Gone

A badly placed planter caused C to trip over and run straight into the plum sapling we planted in March. To add insult to injury, the open box of screws he was holding flew and scattered about the garden. When C called me in exasperation- it was guilty me who had placed that no good pot right in front of everyone's way- I excitedly said, "What about the one plum?" Our tree had but one lonely green plum which had taken fruit from a meagre cluster of blooms; a frosty green thing which I loved to focus on when I sat on the back porch swing. Too belatedly I sheepishly asked "Are you okay." Too late as C was sniffy and miffy. In the doghouse again...

Adulthood



There is one Spongebob episode where SB desperately wants to behave in a more adult way after being humiliated by laughing customers at the Krusty Krab. All this triggered by Granny Sponge giving Spongebob a smoochy smooch on the forehead in view of all. Granny Sponge wears lipstick more permanent than well... permanent marker. Distraught, SpongeBob runs home crying while trying to rub off pink kiss marks. Who can he turn to in his hour of need but his wiser friend Patrick to help him navigate the waters of maturity. Patrick convinces SB that to be adult, one must appreciate freejazz. The bout of free jazz on KALX makes me SpongeBob- forehead furrowed, wishing nice old granny will feed me warm cookies and milk instead.



All weekend I was thinking of cookies made with love and care. On Saturday I got a few from Massa's. They are a fine bakery no doubt, but their cookies are professional with none of that homey tender flavor. So I bravely took out 2 blocks of butter for chocolate chip coconut oatmeal treats. I patted the dough down in heart shapes, but the excess butter melted them down to suspicious blob shapes.

Stitched



C had possibly the world's most efficient wisdom teeth extraction ever. Dr. Ng, conviniently located a few blocks from work in the heart of Oakland Chinatown, was rotating between 2 other clients, and had cracked and pried 2 teeth loose in 4 minutes flat. Everyone in the office was running from mouth to mouth.



Prior to meeting C for surgery, my web research on post oral surgery support uncovered the dreaded condition known as dry sockets. I kept demanding to check for dry sockets, but C kept his lips mum.

Nextfest '04 Time Warp Back to Mid-Eighties



So at this point I'm forced to bring forth my geekiness into broad daylight as I squandered a perfectly sunny Saturday afternoon inside a dark sweaty convention hall at NextFest, a Wired-sponsored tech gadgets fair. I made this trek with a willing co-worker all in hopes of seeing ASIMO; I hope this wasn't my only chance to see Honda's creepy little robot live because... sniffle... I blew it. The sponsors constructed a tight black tent for limiting the robot show to a privileged few(the real geeks who stood in line for half an hour). Late comers like me had to squint in between and past some large sweaty heads at the video screen conveniently positioned at crotch level just outside the tent. Presumably the little fellow does not handle ambient crowd noises too well. The only word which came oft to mind was lame. No I'm not immediately cancelling my Wired subscription- but only because I get it for free.



The future had that mid-80's feel except HDTV did not have hold a booth. How many times can they trot out the conductor wand with the computerized orchestra. This is the last time I'm going to be insulted with either cheesy Vocaloid demos or painful synth music made by twiddling 3 perfume bottles. The future appears to be headed towards more over-engineered gadgets. Even if I'm not jumping up and down to own shoes which makes 5 million computations per second to provide the optimal amount of cushion, still I craved the wow feeling which gives lustre to the future. Currently the only thing in my "calendar of official events outside my control" to look forward to is the return of Haley's comet 2061 and the LOTR ROK extended DVD.



Inside the fiberglass grotto, I tried to touch the hanging bags and shirts woven with fiber which can emit light. Out of nowhere a stern lady materialized to restrain me: Do not touch. I could electrocute myself. I guess future humans will conduct electricity much better. Thankfully this is only Wired's vision of the sponsored future.



Outside the convention hall, I saw for the first time the Segway in action. Two aging couples, civilians unrelated to NextFest, were scootering about in their segways, his and hers.

Flat Stanley Gets Berkled


A cut out paper boy named Flat Stanley arrived through our mailbox last week. Kids  from Pearson Elementary  were sending away flat Stanley(a  boy who gets flattened by a chalk board and travels in envelopes) away as far as they can.  Recipients are instructed to take flat Stanley around, show him a good time, take a few pictures and send him back with the photos as proof of his supposed adventures. .



C and I initially cooked up very exciting San Francisco adventures for Stan. I first got carried away and planned a lost limb or a black eye, real adventures demand tokens. C said we should send Stan back with an earring and a boyfriend. Since the boyfriend might be controversial, C settled for a black T with a tasteful rainbow logo.   But after thoughtful consideration, we sensibly decided to give Stan a more wholesome trip to Point Reyes and maybe a minor sunburn.

Yesterday, I had a dinner of bacon cheeseburger,onion rings, and a malt vanilla icecream shake. So naturally, I didn't feel much like dessert. As we were walking towards the car, Chris who was rather inclined towards an after-dinner treat says "What would June do?" And so of course we headed back to get a latte and cocoa with a tall tall column of cream.



So today after dinner I baked a lemon walnut cake to celebrate receiving a bonus. When making a cake, it seems a waste not to make another, so I again asked C. Naturally, he just said "What would June do?". So I was obliged to make a chocolate pecan cake.

Orange buns, chocolate nibs, and problems with birthday deflation



My birthday celebrations dragged out for a good five days has deflated to a sorry end by the threat of jury duty and return to work. I spent many days before thinking of all the wonderful things I could do, all the fat breakfasts I was going to have.



The last highlight is a chocolate factory, the Scharffenberger tour- a great place to bring your hot looking date. Nothing as funny as seeing the object of your affection in a mandatory hair net. If you know anybody who can look dignified/hot/good with a hairnet, e-mail me a photo proof.



The first highlight begins at the La Pena cultural center for a night of Afro Peruvian song and dance. I asked C if we could count it as a date, he grudgingly said yes. That space has all the feel of a Catholic church coffee and donuts hall except for the coffee, donuts and strobe light. But the old Catholic ladies farting, it's all authentic. Rompe y Raja sang beautifully. We were so pleasantly surprised when one of the side dancing ladies with the eighties soccer star short-long belted a song out while the main diva was resting; let it be known henceforth that a mullet is no barrier to good singing.



But it was the Marinera, "an intricate and elegant dance of courtship accompanied by guitar, cajon, accordion and handclapping by onlookers" which provided the unexpected entertainment. It was more than just a male dancer dressed in orange knickerbockers and vest chasing a girl in a pure white dress. Well- C said it best. "My god- those buns can hold up a coke can." Every time orange buns would appear on the scene, I would crack up so bad I had to hide my nose in C's shoulder.



At the beginning of the show, the performers came out in formation singing and dancing- I noticed a tooth fell out of the quijada(donkey's jaw used as a rattle). So all night my eye got sucked into the gap in the jaw wondering if someone was going to trip on it.

Early vacation blues.



Tonight is the first night of my official birthday holiday. How sweet the taste of vacation feeling when I dashed out of work at 6:30 today. Despite the sweet singing of the crickets, I cannot close my eyes.

Working on one's prose



I've been marching up and down the well worn path of the dreaded writer's block. It's a crowded street, writers bumming cigarettes off each other, general loitering on every corner- a few bad cases pitifully slumped over the sidewalks. Like Balzac's big robe, I've tried every single bath robe in the house to no avail. All point to desperate measures. So I hired a professional troupe of crickets to sing away my problems- for not just writer's block, but for troubles falling asleep and troubles waking up. For room and board plus meals, my cricket chorus chirp their hearts out.



The first day, only a timid soloist chirped tentatively. I had to coax them with papaya then pears. A few tiny slivers.



Yesterday the fattest one attempted to go elsewhere in breach of contract. I have them for life you see so I put him back in the jar. Why get gobbled by a predatory chicken and prematurely end your career when you can sing to an appreciative audience like me.

Apparently my whole profession is in jeopardy- all being packed away to India. When munching a few tasty dill pickles, I noticed they were packed in India. I bought this jar at a dollar store. I guess you know you're in trouble when you find even your pickles are outsourced.

Adventures in the city.



Since C is away, this is my hot chance to hop over to the city for a Sof adventure. We start with food samplings at the Ferry Building- a buttery pear button and rice pudding custard pie at the Frog Hollow Bakery. I sigh. To think these buttery goodies were here all these years... (I am woeful June did not get such a bite, and my mind races to contrive a trip back for lunch.) Munch over to scallop tempura and rice triangles- ending with riso gelato. But we strayed wrongly for dinner at "Curry N Naan"-a chicken vindaloo so weird tasting, we just gave up mid dish. So we had to redeem ourselves with an apricot creme tart and later a lime soda at the hip Canvas Cafe.



Side story of C's trip to LA:

It starts with the tragic figure of Joel M- all his gallery openings are preceded by a dark evil cloud. Once he had appendicitis so far gone he had 104 fever. Before his big opening at Griffin Contemporary this week, an old farm injury- nail to the eye- must be redone as his retina is threatening to detach. As his opthamologist reassured him, " Wow. I've never had a patient with a nail stuck in his eye. It says it right here on your record. Don't worry. I just had a guy shot in both eyes with a pellet gun. He's seeing fine in both eyes. "



Every story must have also a bright spot. When TonyG-mega West Coast collector heard of Joel's woes, he told Joel not to worry and flew one of the best eye surgeons in the country from Dallas to give a second opinion. Although Chihouly flaunts his eye patch- really a good sculptor must have two eyes. Depth perception- useful. And C drove down to do manual labor for Joel as he cannot lift anything or risk retinal detachment.

Cozy Blanket Monster



Dear reader, life get's better and better. With my furry brown socks and a brand new electric blanket, I am invincible. But I decide it's best to leave the world alone enough and try a snooze.