Bye Bye makingadent.

Ok, I've transitioned over to blogger beta. Or whatever they're calling the new stuff.

Email me for the link. Or use your powers of internet stalking. :)

Here's to a great FOUR YEARS on this thing. Geez.

BYE!

No, me father was a tree.

Perhaps we've become a bit blase about our air travel. No longer do we make sure, under any circumstance, that we are at the airport one full hour before the plane leaves. Who wants to wait at LAX Terminal 1 Gate 3A in line B for more than 5 minutes? No longer do we check and double check our flight departure and arrival times and dates. Why would we, when we so breezily select our flights and pay by credit card at the touch of a track pad?

Well, perhaps we should. Especially when we book our return flight home for the correct day in the wrong month. And miss our flight thinking our arrival time is our departure time. And book our return flight home for the correct day in the wrong month.

Yup, twice.

Damn you and your kinta roll too.

That's it. NO MORE Crazy Fish. I've been sorely disappointed now on more than a handful of occasions. No, I haven't been disappointed by bad food, because, let's be honest, who goes to Crazy Fish for actual sushi. No, I'm pissed off because the place was closed during regular dining hours on a regular day. Again.

I had sworn off this place over a year ago, but every once in a blue moon, I guess every time Mell is in town, somehow the idea that going to Crazy Fish comes up and seems like a good one. So we trudged from LAX to Olympic and Doheny at 6pm on a Friday. And I mean trudged. And all the while, fond memories of eel sauce and whatever they put in dynamite are wafting through your olfactory centers, really subtly at first, then with a power-packed punch as you come within two blocks of the restaurant. So by the time you come within eyesight of the unlit restaurant front with zero customers waiting outside, the combination of a little bit of denial then utter disappointment takes over all higher-order reasoning abilities. And you begin to curse like a sailor. Loudly.

And then you signal left and drive away, experiencing hints of those withdrawal symptoms you thought were long a thing of your past. Because even though you haven't tasted their some-illicit-drug-laced eel sauce in well over a year, your memory refuses to fail you this time.

The Evolution of Bathroom Stall Graffiti.

Over the past few years, I have personally witnessed the evolution of graffiti in the Moore 1st floor women's restroom, stall 3, right-hand wall. It started with a single Jack Johnson lyric:

Seems to me that maybe/pretty much always means no

Then it elicited pertinent responses, ranging from "Seems to me we're a bit angry, aren't we Jack Johnson?" to "Why are you quoting Jack Johnson on a bathroom stall" to "Jack is the best!" and "Jack sucks." Somewhere along the lines, someone else put up another Jack Johnson lyric:

Why don't the newscasters cry when they read about people who die/At least they could be decent enough to put just a tear in their eyes

This spawned a range of responses as well, involving commentary about the role of media in our society. Being a bit more political in nature, THESE markings spurred on a slew of comments about media, corporate america, liberals, liking and disliking Bush. And I believe it was the single "I <3 Bush" comment that led to remarks about girl-girl sex, sex toy varieties, and sexual positions. Oh, and somewhere in there, a left-handed writer turned to the bare left wall of the bathroom stall and commented "Yay, lefties!" That is all that was written on the left wall.

Now, I'm hoping this is a fairly accurate documentation of this stream of bathroom stall graffiti because during my last visit, I had noticed that the markings had finally been cleared away. So perhaps this is in remembrance of the oh-so-profound UCLA women who have left their mark. While peeing.

Back in business.

As much as I love sitting around in my underwear reading books about merde that should just be made into chick flicks starring Jude Law, it feels good to be in the office frantically catching up on work.

God bless self-efficacy.

And the BFF returns to LA tomorrow! Hooray for Crazy Fish and Aunt Kay's cooking.

Since I haven't posted a photo in awhile, here's PV in winter:

How to: Get a girl's phone number.

So in yet another attempt to leave my bedroom today, I decide to go to Starbucks to enjoy some herbal tea and light reading. There I am, cozied up on one of their cushy armchairs with my nose buried (literally buried, as I took my glasses off because they were awkwardly reflecting the light) in the new book I picked up that pokes fun at Parisian life.

At one point, the gentleman at a nearby table apologetically explains that he has misplaced his cell phone and asks to borrow mine to call it. I gladly hand him my phone and he unsuccessfully spends the next 30 seconds calling his phone and trying to hear it ring. No luck, and he hands back my cell phone with a thank you.

Not that this is at all what I think was happening tonight, but isn't that a great way to exchange phone numbers? I mean, if he thought I might have been at all interested, I now have his phone number somewhere in my phone. And if he wanted to be all creepy (a la Craigslist Missed Connections... hey, some people dig it), then he actually has my phone number to call (yeah, I didn't think of that part until afterward. I only thought about if he decided to run off with my beat up flip phone. I would've commandeered his laptop for an even trade).

Anyway, just a thought for single folks out there. You could always walk away with a flirtatious wink and a "by the way, you're welcome to call that number again on Friday night." Or something more clever than that.

Or you could just date on the internet.

For lack of better blogging material... I bring you Empty Orchestra!

It has been karoke mania lately. PS2 on the Barrington HDTV, Boardwalk 11, Michelle's family's "we take karaoke seriously" living room setup. And I actually got up on stage for one aboundingly nervous first time stage karaoke experience! Like a Virgin would've been more apropos than the Madonna song I chose. Anyway, all I can say is I love it when people are totally into karaoke. Even if they choose Creed. But I don't love it as much in those scenarios. And I love it even more when they do the Cure and close their eyes while they sing because it makes Stacy smitten. That's right, smitten.

And I have to admit to being a bit smitten myself when Tyson sings. And does karate.

Ok you can stop throwing up now.

Infidelity.

I think the Big Blue is upset at me for cheating on her. Come on, woman, I've only taken the Culver City Bus three times, EVER, and with BruinGo back up again starting Monday, you know I'll be riding you faithfully.

Regardless, she thought it would be funny to play a little joke on me this morning. She sent three buses in a row (which translates to "catch one of them or you're going to be waiting a long time for the next one") the minute I stepped out of Starbucks with my latte. Which, on any other day, would be iced, but it's lookin' a bit like fleece weather so I sprung for the non-iced version. Caution: Very Hot.

So in my frenzy to beat the light to catch bus number one, my subsequent giving up of running with my huge laptop bag and lamenting, and my successful attempt with the third bus, I spill and scald my right hand. Then I get a bit hasty with my seventy-five cents and decide to jam the coin machine with my two dimes. And in my frenzy to deal with THAT on a careening bus without cursing too loudly in mixed company, I spill and scald my left hand. And feel awful that I've just left a nice puddle of nonfat latte on the bus floor.

Morals of the story:
1. Hot coffee and bus catching don't mix.
2. Careful what you wish for -- I could've used someone praying for me on the bus this morning.

Before I dive back into the tediousness of data analysis...

I have a newfound appreciation for showers.

I do not have a newfound appreciation for William Shatner's musical stylings.

Bay Area Jet Setting.

DMB at Shoreline was unbelievable. Un-f*ing-believable.

There's just something about artists completely immersed in what they're creating, totally in their element, surrounded by this incredible energy... and when the song ends and the last chord has been played and the last beat has been drummed, it's like they're shocked back into reality and have to take a moment to find their bearings.

And being there, a part of that, in section 102, so close they actually look human-sized. wow.

So that was an incredible evening. And the weekend was full of eating and chatting and catching up and eating, obviously. I love being in the city, seeing my girls BART and MUNI and walk and get emotionally bombarded by boys and friends and start school and get promoted and take the next steps toward the rest of their lives. It's like I'm proud Mama Ang. haha.

Throw in a couple of extended dates with Jonathan Safran Foer and two memorable (in very different ways) Culver City Bus rides, and you've got a solid weekend.

And top THAT off with Willie and the Snoty fam. :D

maintenant

on my desk:
laptop; strait transcript, day one, opened to line 1076; photo of joshua age 2; photo of pch in the side-view mirror; bruin up books placard; three quarters for the bus ride home; sunglasses; my elbows
on itunes:
KCRW's morning becomes eclectic podcast of Josh Ritter
on me:
the fleece that I keep here in the office because basements are often refrigerators; tank top from marshalls; those jeans that don't fit right so I made them into shorts but they're kind of ugly so I usually don't wear them unless I haven't done laundry in awhile, which is now
on tap for the weekend:
good ol' Bay Area time with Vinita, BFF, and DMB; Bowl trip number SEVEN courtesy of the Snoty family
on my mind:
date thirteen, for obvious reasons
onto:
my 11am meeting

Weekend o' fun at Lake Nacimiento.

The 5 photos + 30 second video. Sorry, no time to write. Must work.











(warning: The sound is obnoxious on the video because it's so windy. Also, apparently I don't know how to use quicktime pro, so you get a 55 sec video. The last 30 seconds are what I wanted to include, so just start it in the middle for contest purposes.)

No contest.

Matt definitely lost. Not sure about the redneck population, but there were lots and lots of pickup trucks, AND I rode (once while standing) in the bed of one, so I think we beat Tyson as well.

Conclusion: thanks for a great weekend Dez!

Will post 5 photos + video tomorrow. Matt, you too? Vicky wants to judge.

Weekend Challenge is ON!

Matt thinks his Vegas weekend is going to be way more fun than my lake house weekend (it's LAS Vegas? who knew). His exact words: "can't let you outfun me." (outfun sounds like a chinese noodle dish)

We each get to present 5 photos and 1 video at 30 seconds or less. Whoever demonstrates the most fun wins.

I don't know... Stacy and Dez are way hotter than Lorenzo and Harrison. WAY hotter. I think I'm already at a distinct advantage.

Although, we may both be beat by Tyson and his dad at the John Fogerty concert. That's a close one.