September's kind of a weird month for me, isn't it?

This is my Dad.
I just love this picture, because he has such a mischievous look in his eyes.
He died on this date, 33 years ago, just shy of his 35th birthday.

So much to say, yet still so hard to find the words.
Instead, I'll just wonder what it was that made him smile like that.

Thank goodness!

I'm so pleased E! was listening.....
(updated, as I'm told the link didn't work properly...)

From the New York Post:
September 29, 2005 -- STAR Jones didn't jump from E! — she was pushed.
Jones, who grated on the nerves of viewers and E! execs by continually promoting her wedding last year, made her final appearance as the cable channel's red carpet reporter at the Emmys this month.
The option in her contract for another year was not picked up. "One year was enough," our insider said.
Jones claims the decision was hers, and told The Post last week she'll be too busy promoting her book, "Shine: A Physical, Emotional, and Spiritual Journey to Finding Love" (Collins), due out Jan. 6.
The tome is about her meeting and mating with hubby Al Reynolds.
"I couldn't make any commitments next year beyond supporting the book and doing 'The View,' " Star said. "I want to make sure I do my everyday job very well."
But PAGE SIX predicted her exit from E! months ago when execs groused about her ratings and the way she pressured stars on the red carpet into coming onto "The View."
"This has been in the works for a while," said one insider. "She just didn't do well on the red carpet and E! is letting her blame the book, but they were the ones telling her they wouldn't be picking up her option."
The source then snickered, "Do you think Star would give up good money and a load of freebies from the goody bags and the dresses for a book? No way."


(Because, you know, with all that's happening in the world today, this is really important stuff. *Cough.)

Tell me about it...

I suppose there's a little comfort in knowing that I'm not alone, in scraping by each month...

A little.




Over the weekend, I had one of those days that reminds me why I'm willing to put up with the ridiculous cost of living here. The weather was gorgeous, so I decided to walk to the movies, and along the way, I stopped into the coolest bookstore around (Green Apple, for you locals), and did a little windowshopping as I passed the wide variety of stores in my neighborhood. I love that all of this -- great stores, great bars, great eateries -- is within walking distance of my home. I love the ethnic diversity of my neighborhood. I love that I know some of my local merchants by name.

I just wish I wasn't so freakin' broke all the time.

I've done it!

I have finally mastered the art of crafting the perfect gluten-free pizza.

A little background: I discovered last year that I am gluten-intolerant... meaning my body simply won't digest anything with gluten in it. And the only way to manage this little problem is to stick to a gluten-free diet.

What is gluten? It's the protein that's in wheat, and it's also used in about a million other things, such as salad dressings, sauces, and of course, any product made with regular flour. So regular bread, pizza, cookies, pasta, cakes, etc. are now off-limits to me. Forever. A wise friend once told me I wouldn't miss these things, since eating them makes me sick. (And the words "permanent intestinal damage" scare the hell out of me).

All is not lost, as I am lucky to live in an area where all sorts of alternatives are readily available to me. I have easy access to all sorts of products which are gluten-free, and to flours that are made with other grains. (Eating out is a challenge, but that's another story.)

But I HAVE missed pizza. I found a gluten-free frozen pizza which is good, but it's just not the same as the doughy, cheesy goodness that is a North Beach Pizza creation. And it's a little pricey, too. I tried a pre-packaged dough mix which was okay...but again, not great. So I'd settled for a pizza dough recipe that requires 10,000 ingredients (hello, anyone have xanthan gum and guar gum in their pantries? I do!) and is a little challenging to work with -- those alternative flours are very delicate, and VERY sticky, once made into dough.
It, too, was okay...but not great.
Until two weeks ago.
I don't know what I did, but the pizza I made was FABULOUS. Doughy, chewy, excellent "mouth-feel" (as they say in wine-tasting) . The thing is... I didn't know what I'd done differently to make this particular pizza so yummy. I figured it was a fluke, and that I was doomed to pizzas that were just....okay.
But it happened again this past weekend. Another fantastic pizza. Hallelujiah!

(I know... I know. We're at war, people are trying to pick up the pieces of their lives along the Gulf Coast, and I'm obsessing about pizza. What can I tell you? I am a dork.)

Sucker....!

Me, I mean. I'm a sucker for that guy over there. You tell me he's playing solo at a benefit concert near my home next month, and I'll buy tickets.
Even if I'm not interested in some of the other acts on the bill. Even if I just spent two nights last month enjoying him and his band.
I even waited an hour and half after tickets went on sale to check what kind of seats were available, thinking they'd be sold out and I wouldn't be tempted.
He'd better be good. Then again, he always is.

Hey, look! It's another gorgeous sunny day here! Second in a row!

Hangin' with Mr. Cooper...

My new hurricane hero: Rob Marciano, hunky CNN reporter who's also a meteorologist. (He's much hunkier in the field.... but I digress.)
Why?
Because he actually had the good sense to pack it in and go indoors when the shit really started to hit the fan in Texas last night. He heard the in-studio weather dude give the latest stats about wind speed, etc, and said, on the air, "That's it. My crew and I are packing it in and getting to safety."
Yaaaaay, Rob!

The really weird thing is that he was just a few feet away from my other hurricane hero, Anderson Cooper. They were apparently in the same Beaumont, Texas parking lot, with two different crews, and on two different screen shots, for at least some of the evening. I realized this when something blew by Rob, and he turned to his right and asked "What was that?" And Anderson turned to his left to respond.
Umm...yeah. Two reporters. Standing out in the middle of a massive hurricane. In the same spot.
Anderson stayed, of course, and I actually feared for his life this time. He looked like he was about to be carried away by those unbelievable winds more than once last night. I don't know how long he stayed out, because I fell asleep and he was off the air when I woke up.

Other highlights: one reporter who was in Louisiana, I think, said "It's too dangerous to be outside right now." While he was standing outside.
And another reporter got whacked straight on by a large piece of debris during his live shot... kept talking, and than had to suppress a laugh when he explained what it was that had hit him.

As amusing as all of this is to me (the coverage, not the disaster), I am reminded of one of the very first tenets of journalism: the reporter is not supposed to become the story. And I don't think this kind of coverage helps anyone who is dying for information about the fate of their home.

That aside, you can see how exciting my Friday night was...

Have I told you lately that I love you?

You guys.

You amaze me.

The notes so many of you sent after yesterday's extraordinarily windy (even for me) post were so sweet and so supportive, I got all verklempt.

I really DO give thanks every day for the wonderful people who are in my life. Picture me blowing you kisses now.

I should probably clarify something about yesterday's post: things were not always bad in that relationship. There were many great times. For a long time, he was really sweet and affectionate and wonderful. He really did feel like my other half. That's why it was so shocking when it all turned to shit, because I knew he was capable of so much more.
But enough on that subject. Old news.

Here are the questions I'm pondering today:

What happens if you drink juice well past its expiration date? Do the vodka and triple sec kill whatever germs might be lurking in the old juice? Consider me a test case... a science project. I'll let you know what the results are.

How did I get this bruise on my left wrist? Why does it hurt so much? And why don't I KNOW how I got it?

When you think you look like shit and three different people make unsolicited comments about how great you look... who do you believe? Them? Or the reflection in the mirror? Do any of us know what we really look like?

Yaaaay, Friday.

Mistakes, I've made a few...

....and today, I can't help but think about one of the biggest.

This would have been my 15th wedding anniversary.
Yeah.
(Hey, that thing on my head was the height of wedding fashion in 1990. The perm was not.)

I was smitten from the moment we met, nine years earlier. It was the start of my senior year of high school. He was a junior, and we were both on the high school newspaper staff.
A few weeks after we met, he told me he had a big crush on me. I said something dead clever (natch) like "the feeling's mutual, " and then proceeded to gracefully (as always) knock over my Coke. (We were at McDonald's. Special, no? Hey... we were in the 'burbs of San Diego, in the early '80s. It's not like we had any hip coffeehouses around.)
So you'd think we'd have started dating then, right?
Wrong.

We spent the rest of the school year engaged in this baffling back-and-forth dance that I would not understand until many years later. We became good friends, he was my date for prom and for grad night...but we were not dating, though many assumed we were. He often acted like I was his girlfriend. But by the end of the school year, I'd given up and resigned myself to the fact that I was in love with someone who didn't feel the same way about me. That is, of course, when he told me he loved me.

So we dated for many years, even over many miles, when I moved to San Francisco to finish school. He ended up in the Bay Area a year later.
We were never one of those couples who were constantly together, joined at the hip. I never wanted to be one of those couples. And we always had conflicting schedules, so even if we'd WANTED to be one of those couples, we couldn't have been.

But as the years went by, we had less and less time together. And that got really old for me... but not so much for him. I was miserable. I was working crazy hours, had no social life, and never saw the person who was supposed to be my partner in life. And he didn't seem to care. When people would comment on how hard our conflicting schedules must be on us, he would always say, "Oh, it's not that bad." It felt like a knife in my heart, every time.

On top of that, he had me convinced that I was the source of all of our problems. I was expecting too much, I wanted too much, I should find some hobbies. (Isn't that a caring, compassionate thing to say to someone you love? You need a fucking hobby? You need a fucking heart, asshat.)
Now, I believe in that old saw about how no one can make you feel bad about yourself without your permission, and I believe that we are each responsible for our own happiness. But he was the last person on earth I thought would ever actively work to help me stay unhappy. It never even occurred to me that it would benefit him, to keep me distracted from what was really going on. I trusted him implicitly.

God, I remember one really awful New Year's Eve we spent together. We went to his company's holiday party, and he spent the entire evening taking photos of other party-goers to raise money for the company's employee association. Even his friends at our table started commenting on how long he'd been away. Later, he said he thought I'd be fine, since I knew his friends. I pointed out that even THEY were wondering what the hell he was doing. He accused me of making a scene (believe me, I wanted to.....) . Had it not been pouring cats and dogs, I would have walked out and driven the 50 miles home.

It wasn't until I got into therapy that I realized I wasn't crazy. It's not normal to spend just a few hours a week with your spouse. It's not normal to never sleep in the same bed (and I'm not talking about sex). It's not normal to cry yourself to sleep every Saturday night because you're still awake in the wee small hours of the morning, thanks to those crazy work hours, knowing you won't see your spouse for another week. Who doesn't care. It's not normal to be the very last priority on your spouse's list.

Even when his schedule changed, and we COULD have spent more time together, we didn't. That just wasn't a concern for him. So I started pushing for some answers. And I got one I wasn't expecting.

"I'm struggling with bisexuality." I'm guessing there's never a good time to hear those words from someone you've loved for 13 years, but it's especially hideous during a post-coital moment, when you are lying naked on top of him.

Thus began an intense period of therapy -- together and separately -- during which he told me his ideal scenario was to be able to stay married to me, but to have outside relationships with men. Uhhh, no. I don't remember taking THAT vow. So we finally separated for about six long months in 1996, then reconciled in the fall. I was thrilled. I'd missed him terribly. He'd been a huge part of my life for nearly half of my life, and I couldn't see living without him. He told me he felt the same way.

But he was still seeing the man he'd met and fallen in love with during the separation. I learned about that when I found a letter to his lover on our computer's hard drive. Turns out he'd come running back to me when things had started to go sour in THAT relationship. Man, I felt special. I was the consolation prize.

We finally split for good after three more agonizing months. It was ugly. UGLY. Ultimatums were issued. He continued to lie and lie and lie, even when I told him the one thing I needed from him was his honesty. The last "talk" we had was brutal, and I even tried to hit him. I'm not proud of that moment, but all I can say is I've never felt such rage in my life. The degree of betrayal I felt still shocks me. He was certainly not the person I fell in love with.

That was nearly nine years ago. And it feels like a lifetime ago. The whole relationship feels like it was another life. I haven't seen him since the morning after that hideous last talk, and as far as I know, he's living in Seattle with his partner.

We are not friends. I can't see being friends with someone who treated me the way he did, especially once it became clear what the real issues were between us. Do I really need that kind of crap from someone who claims to care about me, but does nothing but shit on me?

I know this much is true: my life now, even with all of its difficulties and disappoinments, is soooooo much better than it was when I was with him.
By far.
I never thought I'd be able to say that.

*but the wedding was lovely.

Overheard...

"I can't wait until I get home, so I can toot with impunity.
It's going to be a toot-fest..."

-- anonymous

I miss all the fun...

As I was getting my mail yesterday, one of my neighbors, Tim, asked me if I'd heard all the ruckus in the building in the middle of the night.
Uhh...no, actually, I hadn't.
Evidently, another neighbor made a new friend in a bar on Sunday night, brought him home, and around 3 a.m., he either took a wrong turn on his way to the bathroom or ended up sleepwalking into the hallway of our four-story building. Wearing nothing but his underwear.
He was knocking on doors and being loud... so much so, that someone called the police. He couldn't remember his new friend's last name, or apartment number, so it took awhile to figure out where he'd come from. Eventually, she woke up and the guy didn't end up going to the police station in his undies.

I'm just shocked, because I can't believe I slept through all of that. I am a really light sleeper.
Well, except for the time I slept through the fire in my building. During which firefighters broke into my apartment. Did I mention that I slept through that?

Yeah. I woke up one Friday morning a few years ago, groggy as ever, and noticed, while I was in the bathroom, that there was an awful lot of street noise emanating from my living room, as though a window was open.
Odd. I didn't remember opening a window. Sometimes, when it's windy, one window opens all by itself. But it wasn't windy. So I stumble bleary-eyed into my living room to find that a window, was, in fact, open. As I move to close it, I notice that the window shade is all messed up. Odd.
Then I turned around and saw the big hole in the back door of my apartment, which leads from my kitchen to a trash chute and eventually, the street. My heart jumped into my throat.
Oh my God... SOMEONE'S BROKEN IN! SHIT! HAVE I BEEN ROBBED? WHAT DO I DO?!?!

I ran over to grab my phone, though I really wasn't sure who I thought I was going to call... and then I noticed that my microwave was on the dining room floor. And the table it sits on was also in the dining room, along with several other things. Umm... would thieves have been so careful about placing items from my kitchen in my dining room? (You have to remember that it's 4:30 in the morning... and I don't ever think rationally at that hour. Some might argue that I never think rationally, but that's another story...).
As I moved closer to my kitchen, I finally caught the unmistakable aroma of burnt wood. Oh. There was a fire. But where? When? What the fuck happened? Am I dreaming this? How is this possible?

It's utterly silent in my building. No one else is up. No one is in the hallway. I take a quick look out my windows, and I see no evidence that anything out of the ordinary has occurred. I am completely baffled. I have no idea what to do.

Later, in talking to my property managers and neighbors, I finally pieced together what had happened. A tenant who was moving out had been instructed by the garbage company to pile up their extra trash next to the building, and someone had thrown a cigarette or a match into it around 1 a.m. The fire scorched the exterior of the building in a spot that's right next to my kitchen. The firefighters needed to get into my apartment to determine whether the flames had gotten inside the walls.

Here's the thing: I really AM a light sleeper. How did I sleep through the sirens, the building's fire alarm, my neighbors pounding on my door, AND firefighters breaking through my back door and trudging through my apartment, opening windows and moving furniture along the way?? My neighbors had come to the conclusion that I wasn't home... because who the hell could sleep through all of that?? The fire hydrant on our block IS PRACTICALLY OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM WINDOW, fer cryin' out loud. I am awakened by sirens and car doors slamming ALL the time. But when there might be actual danger present, I am comatose. Great.

For a long time after that, I was known to everyone in my building as "the one who slept through the fire."
Yep. That's me.
At least I didn't bring home a dude who ended up nearly naked in the hallway....

Ooh, shiny!

This is my very first blog entry typed on my brand new computer.
Dude, I got a Dell.
Waaaaaaaay cool.

I love that it's idiot proof -- all the connections are color-coded so you can't possibly plug anything into the wrong place. Unless you're color blind.

But since we use Dells at work... the keyboard is exactly the same as the one I use for eight hours a day. That feels a little odd...but I'm cool with it!

Yakkity Yak...

Why does this woman have a job in television?
It's bad enough that she's part of that suckfest, "The View..." but then E! puts her on the red carpet for every major awards pre-show, and she's so awful it's painful. She blathers on and on about nothing, talks A LOT about herself, gets her facts wrong, asks idiotic questions....oh my GOD. Just hideous. (She's the female Larry King.)

Surely, there are better people E! could hire to cover the biggest nights in the entertainment industry.
In fact, I think they should hire Miss Cheese and me. We would rock that red carpet.


As for the awards themselves..."Everybody Loves Raymond" over "Arrested Development??" I don't THINK so.

In case you missed it...

This is NOT a doctored photo....

It's a good thing it's Friday...

Clearly, I woke up on the cranky side of my bed this morning.
I did not sleep well.
My newspaper was late.
I have a headache.
I hate what I'm wearing. Then again, I hate everything in my closet.
Yes, it's one of those days.

Shocking news:

LOS ANGELES, California (Reuters) -- Oscar-winning actress Renee Zellweger and country singer Kenny Chesney are seeking an annulment after five months of marriage, a spokeswoman said Thursday.


Yeah, we wouldn't want to let gay people get married, because, you know, that would damage the fine institution that we heteros have done such a great job of honoring.


And a note to myself, in haiku:
never say never
that is what "they" always say
but i'm done. basta.

But here is a good laugh. You want to click on "Harlan McRaney," under "comedians." CLASSIC.

Happy Friday!

I hate when that happens...

Oh, I had such a great idea for a blog entry. It was going to be so clever, so witty, SO amusing (as you have come to expect from me. COUGH).

I wish I could remember what it was.

Instead, I'll continue with more random-osity.

Last night, I saw Berkeley Repertory Theatre's production of "Our Town."
I know. I was thinking the same thing. Didn't we all suffer enough with that play in high school? If you didn't have to read it, your drama department undoubtedly staged a stultifyingly dull production of it. Mine did.
I had no idea there was so much humor in that play. Or that I would be moved to tears... instead of being bored to tears. Really, it was so much better than I expected. Go see it. No, really.

If you live in the Bay Area, you're probably aware that a strike is underway at a major hospital that has three campuses in San Francisco, two of which are on my bus route to and from work. I notice that the hospital has hired private security guards, ostensibly to keep those threatening LVNs and other scary health care workers from wreaking havoc. Okay, whatever. But why are they all dressed like Secret Service Agents? They're all in dark suits, wearing dark glasses, and they're all equipped with in-ear communications gear. It's hilarious. Wonder how much the hospital is spending on that...

Yay, the new season of "Survivor" debuts tonight! Yes, I do love me some good cheesy television.

Where you lead...

Ah, Luke. I do so enjoy my Luke.

That's Scott Patterson over there, who plays Luke on "Gilmore Girls," which had its season premiere last night. Yay.

(You may also know him as Elaine's spongeworthy date on "Seinfeld.")

Where are the Lukes in the real world?

And can I come back as Lauren Graham in my next life?

Now, with Extra Randomness!

Note to Victoria's Secret: putting the word "sexy" on a piece of lingerie actually makes it NOT sexy.

You know what's not a good idea? Washing dishes after having a couple of cosmos. And as some of you know from personal experience, my cosmos are super-sized... so they're especially dangerous. Surprisingly, I didn't break anything... but I suspect everything will need another good rinse today.

Excellent TV show to check out: "No Reservations," with Anthony Bourdain, on the Travel Channel. (Special thanks to Angela, for cluing me in on this one.) It is HILARIOUS. I had to struggle to keep the cosmos from spurting out of my nose as I watched. (Anthony Bourdain, in case you don't know, is the author of the best-seller "Kitchen Confidential," which I hope to read one day. Ang loaned it to me years ago, and I started it several times before she finally asked me to pass it on to Miss Cheese, who will actually read the damned thing.)

You know what the problem is with going to bed at a decent hour? All the waking up through the night. Or is that just me? I was actually in bed by 9:30 last night (yes, I live my life as though I were a 5-year-old)...woke up at midnight... again around 3 a.m.... then again around 4:10, aka, 20 minutes before the alarm goes off. I think I can use this example to rationalize my late nights. I mean, it's not like I'm getting much benefit out of going to bed when I should....

What's the deal with the weather? It's awfully chilly for September. Where's our Indian Summer? (Or should that be, Native American Summer?)

It's about flippin' time...

WASHINGTON (AP) - Mike Brown says he has resigned as director of the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

------

Now I think he should be sent to Lousiana to personally clean up the Superdome. And the New Orleans Convention Center.
Idiot (to be read in your best Napoleon Dynamite voice...).

News of note...

Check it out: Anderson Cooper's making news again... here too...


And here's an interesting story I picked up on Yahoo News:

Three-quarters of British women over 40 reckon sex is better now than it was in their 20s.
A survey found that 77 percent enjoyed sex more in their 40s -- and rather than slowing down, 45 percent had a greater sexual appetite than when younger.
Sixty-nine percent of the women surveyed felt more sexually adventurous than ever before and 66 percent felt more confident about their bodies than in their younger days.
The survey brought bad news for would-be toy-boys, with just 33 percent of women over 40 preferring a younger man, compared to 51 percent going for someone their own age.
---------

Yeah, but the question is... do the GUYS our age have the same appetite? Same spirit of adventure?

9-11-05

It's hard not to think about it, isn't it? Can't even look at the calendar without remembering the horror of that day. It's still hard to believe it really happened. I started to watch the HBO documentary "In Memoriam" the other night, and had to turn it off, because of the weeping. Mine, I mean. And I wasn't even personally affected -- I didn't lose anyone that day.

It was certainly a day like no other at work. Before I left my home, the first plane had hit, but the initial reports were that it was a commuter plane that was off course. By the time I got to work, we knew we were under attack. I spent the rest of that day immersed in every bit of wire copy and televised image from New York and D.C. It wasn't long before we started reading stories about people jumping from the towers, or about those trapped in the buildings calling their loved ones... and about the phone calls from the people aboard United Flight 93. To this day, those are the things that still shake me to my core.

I'll never forget an interview we did the day after the attacks. Deena Burnett, whose husband Tom was on Flight 93, was so calm and composed in talking about him (that's shock for ya), and said that was because he was always her hero, and she wanted everyone to know that. She moved an entire newstoom to tears.

My apologies for getting all maudlin and cliched here, but let's not ever forget that life is short.

Photo finish...

Hi, my name is Terry and I'm a chronic procrastinator.

I do just about everything at the last minute. Okay, actually, I do many things AFTER the last minute. Also known as late. I often pay bills late, I always stay up too late. Late is apparently the theme of my life. (Then again, I'm early for concerts, plays, airline flights....)

Funny that I've chosen a career in which I'm under constant deadline pressure -- and have never missed a deadline, thank you very much -- but apparently, I need that kind of pressure to get things done.

One of my greatest accomplishments in college was finishing a 20-page term paper a week EARLY... because I knew I wouldn't work on it over the Thanksgiving holiday. (And what kind of teacher asks students to turn in a 20-page term paper on the Monday after Thanksgiving??)

Anyway. This terrible habit explains why I have oodles of used disposable cameras around my home, waiting to be processed. (No, I haven't converted to digital yet. I know. I know. I KNOW.) And these are pictures that date back to at least 1998. I know one camera has photos of a trip I took to Las Vegas with my friend Ellen that year. I honestly have no idea what the hell is on the other cameras. It's going to be quite a shock once I do (IF I do) get those pics developed.

Why am I bringing this up now? When my favorite Latin singer was here the other day, I brought with me a disposable camera that still had several exposures left, in case I had a photo op with him. So of course, I rushed to get that developed immediately.... and had a really good laugh once I saw the photos.

We begin at my 40th birthday party, last year, where it took me awhile to realize that it's really hard to be the guest of honor AND to take pictures of what's happening. Especially if someone keeps pouring me endless cosmos. So there are maybe seven pics from my party, and a couple of them are way off-center (apparently, the cosmos had kicked in by that time). I do not have pictures of most of the people who were there. Nice work, Terry.

I then took that camera to a concert. Which concert? I couldn't tell upon my first glance at these pictures. That's how lame they are. Oh. NOW I see. Faintly, I can make out some members of the Barenaked Ladies. And these are photos taken from the sixth row. I have some really great shots of the backs of the people who were in front of me. Cool. (And I wasn't even drinking.)

Then there are several bad pictures I took at work, to finish off the roll. In other words, there are about five pictures on this entire roll of film that are worth keeping.

The moral of the story? I am the biggest dork EVER.

R-e-s-p-e-c-t...

You gotta love that this guy was so polite, in addressing Cheney...

Trouble ahead?

Who is the sadist who created the "check engine" warning light? How is this helpful to anyone? It's too vague to be of any real help... yet it freaks me out.

Mine came on yesterday as I was out running errands. Is my car about to explode? Or is it just something minor? HOW CAN I TELL?? I'm no expert, believe me. (And have you ever looked at your owner's manual to see what IT says about the "check engine" light? It tells you to check the engine. So helpful.)

I am a directions-follower, so I did, indeed, check the engine. Yep. It's still under the hood. That's a good sign. Checked the oil, checked my radiator (the only things I know how to check. Well, I know how to check my tire pressure... but since my tires aren't IN my engine, I did not check them. And if my tires WERE in my engine, I think I'd know there was a serious problem. Hopefully...). So I have no idea what triggered that fricking light.

On another note, I caught part of a very troubling commercial on TV last night. It was a Weight Watchers spot, featuring lots of women (interesting -- no men?) who appeared to be joyous at the prospect of dropping those extra pounds through WW, as Cher sang "This is a song for the lonely..."

Umm. Unless you lose weight through Weight Watchers you're going to be lonely? Is that the message here? Charming. And not what I would expect from such a reputable organization.

Deep thought of the day...

It's so not cool to laugh at your own joke.
It's even worse to snort over your own joke.

(and the "you" I'm referring to here is me.)

Overheard...

"Is that a dude, or a pumpkin?"


-- diana

Dios Mio!

I think I may have mentioned before that I am quite fond of a certain Latin singer who literally left me breathless when he took the stage. (I'm not exaggerating. I'm totally serious. Ricky, dancing atop a car as it rose from underneath the stage, just a few rows in front of me. Oh. My. God. Could. Not. Breathe.)
And I'd always told my friends that I was sure I wouldn't be able to speak if I ever got the chance to meet him.

I was wrong. What a pleasant surprise...

He was at our sister station this morning, and I got a chance to say hello and shake his hand (I TOUCHED HIM!) and pose for a picture with him. I was able to form complete sentences and everything. No one is more shocked than I.

He could not have been nicer or more accomodating to this Dork.

Oh MAN, is he adorable!!

Not a bad way to return to work after a long weekend.

More wine, please...

(With apologies to my loved ones on the other side of the political spectrum...)

Bush gets to nominate another Supreme Court justice?
I fear for my country.

Deep thought of the day...

(and an attempt to change the subject...)

Patience really IS a virtue.
It can even get your hair colored for free.

There are no words...

I mean, really. The horror is just stunning. I can't imagine what those poor people on the Gulf Coast have been enduring this week. And even more stunning is the government's response, and in particular, this administration's comments about the catastrophe, and those who are suffering the most.
The head of FEMA should resign, for starters. I can't believe the Bushies were able to get people to actually APPLAUD for him this morning.

And haven't we spent the last four years -- since 9/11 -- improving homeland security and emergency response plans? Is THIS the new and improved version? If so, I am TERRIFIED.

But I have some new heroes. The mayor of New Orleans, for one thing, who's not afraid to say exactly what he thinks. And CNN's Anderson Cooper, for his interview with deluded Louisiana Senator Mary Landrieu. Details about both, here.

Dorkity dork dork...

I suck.

Last week, I made a mental note that a good friend's birthday was coming up soon, and I needed to get a card in the mail to her.

Clearly, my mental note-taking needs some improvement, as I had to make the same mental note on Saturday.
Did I act?
What do you think?

Monday comes along... and I realized time was running out, as her birthday was on Wednesday. Then, I must have gotten distracted by something shiny.

Wednesday arrives, and I think the least I can do is call her. Today's the day!

It's now Thursday.
(You'd think, that since I've known her for more than two decades, I could manage to get a freaking birthday greeting to her on time. For once.)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CINDY!

Love,
the dorkiest friend you have

(maybe I won't tell the burnt chicken story.)