Sent from my iPhone - please pardon my lack of nuance.
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Eagle Rock Music Festival
More unknown bands than you can shake a stick at, and a surprising amount of folks.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
My morning ...
... Has been graced with Babylonian pachyderm acolytes.
Sent from my iPhone - please pardon my lack of nuance.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Blacklight villains
Gotta watch your back in my neighborhood.
Sent from my iPhone - please pardon my lack of nuance.
Friday, September 25, 2009
What to do 'bout the Flu!
via startribune.com
James Lileks shares some helpful pro tips on how to deal with the Flu season that recently hove into view.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
See what's behind the trees?
At a meeting - noticed that I'm spittin' distance from a local landmark.
Sent from my iPhone - please pardon my lack of nuance.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The Hideous Dead Eyed Impy Chimp
via lileks.com
From lileks.com/bleat - this thing looks like it's just itchin' to chew your face off.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Adverbingly annoying
I don't understand this - unless we're verbing Chamomile ... As in, "He quietly chamomiled up the stairs."
A couple grizzled critters
via google.com
From Neato Coolville: I'm surprised at the weight of the chain that's attached to that rough looking hawk. Guess the fellow in the overalls doesn't want to risk losing that bird - either to theft or to flight.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
C.H.I.
Cationic Hydration Interlink Infra Treatment - this doesn't sound like a hair product, it sounds like an interrogation method used by the KGB
Vandalism (sort of)
Someone took the time to scrawl this into the cement. Hilarious!
Sent from my iPhone - please pardon my lack of nuance.
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Birthday Organist
Thomas playing a working pump organ at the Edison on his birthday. We were making up Sigur Ros lyrics as he massacred Glossolli. Made me wish we could have killed the house music in that room.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Songstresses in Sherman Oaks
Nice music and two fingers of Knob Creek makes for a pleasant September evening.
Tuesday, September 08, 2009
Experiment Perilous
Ted Beam got this for me as a belated birthday present. According to Sally Benson of the New Yorker, it's "shot with chills and a ghastly premonition of disaster ... Written with great vitality and sureness and, most important of all, with delicacy and humor."
Harper's Magazine says it's "a delightful and highly civilized horror story of love and beauty and terror in the Murray Hill district of New York. A tale of hair-raising and thoroughly pleasing tension and suspense."
Harper's Magazine says it's "a delightful and highly civilized horror story of love and beauty and terror in the Murray Hill district of New York. A tale of hair-raising and thoroughly pleasing tension and suspense."
I think it looks rad and a half.
Sent from my iPhone.
Monday, September 07, 2009
Zombie Village
Once upon a time, this existed in Oakland, CA. I haven't looked for pics yet, but that's a killer ad. Spotted in the men's restroom of a local eatery.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Asymmetrical Lighting
What would otherwise be a uniform hallway at the criminal justice building now feels sloppy due to the random light panels that are on or off. I can't imagine how blindingly bright it would be if they were all on, though, so perhaps it's a blessing.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Beyond the Starts
Methinks they didn't consider the fact that their spangley apostrophe looks like a "T"
Monday, January 19, 2009
Viney Cherub
Seen on my walk with the pups today. This baby dryad emerges from the neighbor's hedge ready to wrap it's fledgling vines around an unsuspecting squirrel or two. I kept my distance, lest he mistake me for one.
Sunday, August 03, 2008
Crema!
Do you drink espresso? Do you pay attention to the latest snobbery surrounding espresso? Machines, shops, mugs, beans, brewing times, etc etc etc? Then you've heard it said that the sign of a good espresso is the crema - the foamy, beige stuff that floats on top of your shot o' concentrated caffeine.
Well I've got news for you, bucko. Why pay through the nose for 1 oz of high-pressure bean extract when you can have a mugful for cheap? Behold!
My instant coffee has a crema! Granted, it's not flawless what with the oil bubbles, but it does have that "tiger striping" so coveted by the espresso drinker in the know and . . .
Do I detect the sound of massive screeching brakes being applied? Perhaps you, faithful reader, are aghast at my comparison of instant coffee to espresso. How can you drink that swill, you may ask? Believe me, I asked myself the same thing when I bought it for a backpacking trip - but this ain't your grandpappy's Taster's Choice.
This is coffee extruded from the veins of 100% Columbians (and then subsequently freeze-dried). I give you . . .
Trader Joe's 100% Columbian Instant Coffee. Try it and you'll see. Depending on the volume of "grounds" you add to the water, it's just like drinking an entire mug of espresso - only with less jitters (and cost). Granted, my viewpoint may be a bit skewed since I'm on my third cup of the day, but nevertheless - this calls for a side-by-side comparison!
Next steps: making an instant coffee cappuccino. Or Insta-Cap.
Do you drink espresso? Do you pay attention to the latest snobbery surrounding espresso? Machines, shops, mugs, beans, brewing times, etc etc etc? Then you've heard it said that the sign of a good espresso is the crema - the foamy, beige stuff that floats on top of your shot o' concentrated caffeine.
Well I've got news for you, bucko. Why pay through the nose for 1 oz of high-pressure bean extract when you can have a mugful for cheap? Behold!
My instant coffee has a crema! Granted, it's not flawless what with the oil bubbles, but it does have that "tiger striping" so coveted by the espresso drinker in the know and . . .
Do I detect the sound of massive screeching brakes being applied? Perhaps you, faithful reader, are aghast at my comparison of instant coffee to espresso. How can you drink that swill, you may ask? Believe me, I asked myself the same thing when I bought it for a backpacking trip - but this ain't your grandpappy's Taster's Choice.
This is coffee extruded from the veins of 100% Columbians (and then subsequently freeze-dried). I give you . . .
Trader Joe's 100% Columbian Instant Coffee. Try it and you'll see. Depending on the volume of "grounds" you add to the water, it's just like drinking an entire mug of espresso - only with less jitters (and cost). Granted, my viewpoint may be a bit skewed since I'm on my third cup of the day, but nevertheless - this calls for a side-by-side comparison!
Next steps: making an instant coffee cappuccino. Or Insta-Cap.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Boardwalk and Pikes Place
Oi, I'll tell ya right now. Starbucks' new "Pike Place" roast doesn't get any better by being Decaf.
And yet I wanted decaf coffee. And it was my only option that came with wifi on site. Peet's is across the street, but they don't have the Webs. I stood on the corner torn, laptop hanging heavy on my shoulder. A book would have tipped the scales in Peet's' favor, but I've just finished two and haven't replenished.
Hence, I write and roll my overtaxed tastebuds around the surface of my scalded tongue.
Ok, in all honesty, it's not the worst coffee. I have a coworker who brews the worst coffee. If someone could summon enough drool to fill an entire coffee carafe, and that same someone drooled 12 cups of drool over a spoonful of coffee grounds, that would be a strong version of the "coffee" he brews when he gets his mitts on the coffee maker first. I've banned him from making coffee unless he KNOWS beyond a SHADOW OF A DOUBT that he's going to be the only person in the office all day.
Back to Pikes Place. It has this peculiar brewed-in-a-balloon "synthetic rubber" finish that not even 100% half & half can cut. And isn't 100% half & half an oxymoron? No? Well, it ought to be.
I'm thinking about getting a warm-up. They're battening down their hatches at the mo' - maybe they'll give it to me for free. Why I want another cup of Reebok-insole-filtered coffee is beyond my ken. Maybe it's because I paid for the first one, and frankly, I didn't get enough unleaded bang for my (star)buck.
[Update: It was free]
----------------
Now playing: Up, Bustle & Out - Coffee Contamination
via FoxyTunes
Oi, I'll tell ya right now. Starbucks' new "Pike Place" roast doesn't get any better by being Decaf.
And yet I wanted decaf coffee. And it was my only option that came with wifi on site. Peet's is across the street, but they don't have the Webs. I stood on the corner torn, laptop hanging heavy on my shoulder. A book would have tipped the scales in Peet's' favor, but I've just finished two and haven't replenished.Hence, I write and roll my overtaxed tastebuds around the surface of my scalded tongue.
Ok, in all honesty, it's not the worst coffee. I have a coworker who brews the worst coffee. If someone could summon enough drool to fill an entire coffee carafe, and that same someone drooled 12 cups of drool over a spoonful of coffee grounds, that would be a strong version of the "coffee" he brews when he gets his mitts on the coffee maker first. I've banned him from making coffee unless he KNOWS beyond a SHADOW OF A DOUBT that he's going to be the only person in the office all day.
Back to Pikes Place. It has this peculiar brewed-in-a-balloon "synthetic rubber" finish that not even 100% half & half can cut. And isn't 100% half & half an oxymoron? No? Well, it ought to be.
I'm thinking about getting a warm-up. They're battening down their hatches at the mo' - maybe they'll give it to me for free. Why I want another cup of Reebok-insole-filtered coffee is beyond my ken. Maybe it's because I paid for the first one, and frankly, I didn't get enough unleaded bang for my (star)buck.
[Update: It was free]
----------------
Now playing: Up, Bustle & Out - Coffee Contamination
via FoxyTunes
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Sen-tea-ments
I discovered this bit o' wisdom on my tea bag yesterday.
That's nice and all. Apparently, the following also holds true:
"An attitude of gratitude brings platitudes"
. . . assuming the tea-proverb author(ess) lives a life of thankfulness. I'd imagine that's a prerequisite to work at Yogi Tea. What exactly is being thanked is another matter entirely.
I discovered this bit o' wisdom on my tea bag yesterday.
That's nice and all. Apparently, the following also holds true:
"An attitude of gratitude brings platitudes"
. . . assuming the tea-proverb author(ess) lives a life of thankfulness. I'd imagine that's a prerequisite to work at Yogi Tea. What exactly is being thanked is another matter entirely.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Thursday, May 29, 2008
I just got a phone call a moment ago from Wells Fargo informing me that since I'm a valued customer of theirs, I can try out million dollar life insurance FREE for 60 days. If I'm not completely satisfied, I can cancel within those 60 days and I owe nothing.
Wow. Free!!
Wow.
That's . . . um . . . great. How does one "try out" life insurance for sixty days, exactly?
I guess there are several different options, really:
1.) I can die and be completely unhappy with the million dollars and then cancel.
2.) I can feel a general sense of lack of protection (I need TWO million dollars! to be truly comfortable) and then cancel.
3.) I can imagine what it would be like to have to pay the monthly fee, feel unhappy about that fantasy malaise, and then cancel.
4.) I can keep it.
Life insurance doesn't lend itself to a trial membership like a lot of other places. Say . . . Netflix, for instance. I did a trial membership with them and found that I used them so I kept the service. Great!
I don't want to start a trial life insurance membership, find that I will use it, and then . . . .*
Besides, I already have insurance through my company so there's that.
Wow. Free!!
Wow.
That's . . . um . . . great. How does one "try out" life insurance for sixty days, exactly?
I guess there are several different options, really:
1.) I can die and be completely unhappy with the million dollars and then cancel.
2.) I can feel a general sense of lack of protection (I need TWO million dollars! to be truly comfortable) and then cancel.
3.) I can imagine what it would be like to have to pay the monthly fee, feel unhappy about that fantasy malaise, and then cancel.
4.) I can keep it.
Life insurance doesn't lend itself to a trial membership like a lot of other places. Say . . . Netflix, for instance. I did a trial membership with them and found that I used them so I kept the service. Great!
I don't want to start a trial life insurance membership, find that I will use it, and then . . . .*
Besides, I already have insurance through my company so there's that.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Heh! heheheheheh! This is easily the strangest oatmeal I've ever come across:
(as seen at the Glendale Whole Foods) I really . . . words really can't describe how yak-tastic this "oatmeal" appears to be. Well, they can but I run a family site and frankly no one came here to read about Ordure du Chien in salamander-skin sauce.
Whole Foods, I expect better of you when you steal my paycheck! And anyway, you owe me after busting my tooth. (which broke again, bye-the-bye . . . this means two more visits to the dentist. Methinks I need a crown.)
(as seen at the Glendale Whole Foods) I really . . . words really can't describe how yak-tastic this "oatmeal" appears to be. Well, they can but I run a family site and frankly no one came here to read about Ordure du Chien in salamander-skin sauce. Whole Foods, I expect better of you when you steal my paycheck! And anyway, you owe me after busting my tooth. (which broke again, bye-the-bye . . . this means two more visits to the dentist. Methinks I need a crown.)
Monday, April 14, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
From today's Miscreant Bouillabaisse on buzz.mn . . .
(please visit the link in my RSS feed reader on the right for the full post)
"Elsewhere in the world of blatant larceny: Theft. A man left Sam's Auto Parts after paying for two tires, but not the 16-inch rims and hub caps the tires were mounted on. The man put the items in his vehicle and fled. He was later contacted by police and told that he would be charged with theft. He responded by saying that he didn't care."
Lileks goes on to say . . . "How old was the thief, five?"
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
It's such a beautiful night here in Burbank that I had to go someplace out of doors to work on my blog. As I parked, the Jeep thermometer said "70." That's a comfortable number - a number that you ought to feel shame in squandering indoors even if you do have a month of free cable with a bazillion movies "on-demand."
A gentleman, who I see in the neighborhood often, is playing guitar nearby. This keeps me from plugging in my headphones. Instead, the Doppler white noise of the Riverside Dr. traffic and the acoustic noodlings of the middle-aged white man blues (his current song is called "Midnight Special," I believe, due to the repetition of the phrase) keep my wandering mind undistractedly distracted.
--------------
The Fire Extinguisher Man stopped by today with his trolley full of candy-apple colored wares.
Oh the joy when the distinctive tinkling chimes of the Fire Extinguisher Man first drift down the hall. Why, it makes the children's eyes light up so! It's so much fun to see them fretting over which flavor to get: "Instructions" or the sour "ABC." Both are packed with fun!
I asked the Fire Extinguisher Man if I could take a picture of his extinguishers all lined up on his trolley. He was in the middle of tallying something on a rumpled piece of paper and glanced at me from underneath the brim of his cap.
"Eh?" he grunted.
"It's just that I've never seen so many fire extinguishers lined up like this all at one time," I said as I pulled out my camera phone.
"Ohhh-kaaaay." He replied . . . skeptically. I guess he's grown accustomed to the uniqueness of his situation.
Speaking of fire, we're due to have a fire drill at our building sometime in March. I don't know about you, but the words "Fire Drill" evoke all kinds of elementary school memories - mostly of hassles and sirens and interrupted classes. Oh the learning lost!! I've been designated the floor warden by default since I'm the only local person at my company with whom the building has any contact. As the acting floor warden, I need to designate an alternate should I be crushed by a steel beam or hurtled headlong out of an 18th story window in the course of my duties.
The fellows at work aren't exactly clambering over each other to be the first to volunteer. Not because they're afraid of danger either. I think it has more to do with the whole "Hall Monitor" aspect of the job. Counting heads, directing traffic, checking hall passes . . . that type of stuff. If I have any amount of luck, the building will provide me with a safety vest and helmet (perhaps a badge? but I dream!) . . . and then I shall take a photo of me looking official in my official garb and I shall post it in this blog.
We have an official Floor Warden's (or Floorden's) meeting on the 4th of March whereupon I shall meet my fellow Floordens and size up their mettle. The Floorden motto is "Twenty-three-floors-worth of Panicked Office Workers CAN BE CONTROLLED In Times of Crisis."
Our logo . . .
Yup. I can't wait for March 4th.
----------------
Now playing: Bob Dylan - This Wheel's On Fire
via FoxyTunes
A gentleman, who I see in the neighborhood often, is playing guitar nearby. This keeps me from plugging in my headphones. Instead, the Doppler white noise of the Riverside Dr. traffic and the acoustic noodlings of the middle-aged white man blues (his current song is called "Midnight Special," I believe, due to the repetition of the phrase) keep my wandering mind undistractedly distracted.
--------------
The Fire Extinguisher Man stopped by today with his trolley full of candy-apple colored wares.
Oh the joy when the distinctive tinkling chimes of the Fire Extinguisher Man first drift down the hall. Why, it makes the children's eyes light up so! It's so much fun to see them fretting over which flavor to get: "Instructions" or the sour "ABC." Both are packed with fun!I asked the Fire Extinguisher Man if I could take a picture of his extinguishers all lined up on his trolley. He was in the middle of tallying something on a rumpled piece of paper and glanced at me from underneath the brim of his cap.
"Eh?" he grunted.
"It's just that I've never seen so many fire extinguishers lined up like this all at one time," I said as I pulled out my camera phone.
"Ohhh-kaaaay." He replied . . . skeptically. I guess he's grown accustomed to the uniqueness of his situation.
Speaking of fire, we're due to have a fire drill at our building sometime in March. I don't know about you, but the words "Fire Drill" evoke all kinds of elementary school memories - mostly of hassles and sirens and interrupted classes. Oh the learning lost!! I've been designated the floor warden by default since I'm the only local person at my company with whom the building has any contact. As the acting floor warden, I need to designate an alternate should I be crushed by a steel beam or hurtled headlong out of an 18th story window in the course of my duties.
The fellows at work aren't exactly clambering over each other to be the first to volunteer. Not because they're afraid of danger either. I think it has more to do with the whole "Hall Monitor" aspect of the job. Counting heads, directing traffic, checking hall passes . . . that type of stuff. If I have any amount of luck, the building will provide me with a safety vest and helmet (perhaps a badge? but I dream!) . . . and then I shall take a photo of me looking official in my official garb and I shall post it in this blog.
We have an official Floor Warden's (or Floorden's) meeting on the 4th of March whereupon I shall meet my fellow Floordens and size up their mettle. The Floorden motto is "Twenty-three-floors-worth of Panicked Office Workers CAN BE CONTROLLED In Times of Crisis."
Our logo . . .
Yup. I can't wait for March 4th.
----------------
Now playing: Bob Dylan - This Wheel's On Fire
via FoxyTunes
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Soundtrack for Dental Work
I heard this song and immediately thought of the rigamarole I've gone through to get my molar fixed. It's fixed now. That's good. This song makes me laugh about it. I wasn't laughing at the time. In fact, I was downright mad . . . which helps when you're being stabbed in the gums with a thick needle full of numbing agent. I drummed a beat on the dental seat and thought "Is that the best you can do, Dr. Kay?!" I would have said it out loud except my mouth was full of gauze, suction hoses, and rubber bite wedges.
03 Ragging the Scale.mp3
Friday, February 08, 2008
Wanna know the latest drama? I broke a tooth. This seems to be a year o' injury for me - at least, breaking calcium-based parts of my body . . . toe, tooth. Luckily it's a molar so I don't have to worry about any crazy cosmetic dental implants. The dentist (Dr. Kay) can do a sloppy job and as long as I can bite down without discomfort, I'll be good to go.
She's tried this once already, but the composite didn't stick. After looking at my busted toof, she tsk-tsk-ed and asked how I managed to break my farthest backmost molar.
"I had a rock in my broccoli from Whole Foods," I sighed. My buddy, Mark, said that I had a rockoli for lunch - I laughed a bittersweet laugh. It was funny but my tooth is still broken.
Anyway, yes I had a rock in my brocc and I think I swallowed the offending pebble. However, I managed to salvage something hard and white out of the mess in my mouth, but I think it's just part of the tooth. It's in a small, 3"x2" manila envelope and hopefully I'll be able to get Whole Foods to pay for my visits to Dr. Kay.
Anyway, my first visit wasn't without drama, but it's boring drama so I'll avoid it. Instead, I'll pick up with me in the dentist's chair, watching the hygienist bust open plastic packets of sterilized stainless steel tools in order to dump them in a clatter onto an aluminum tray. After all the tools were heaped onto the tray, she proceeded to scooch them around into a rough assemblage that I can only assume is Dr. Kay's preferred heap of instruments. The best part was the horse-sized needle that she loaded with numbing agent and stabbed through a piece of cardboard to prop it up on the tray. The industrial syringe looked exactly like this one:
. . . minus the istock watermark, of course. I wanted to snap a photo of it sitting on the tray, but two things happened at that moment.
1. My phone fainted at the sight (or at least, it ran out of batteries)
2. Dr. Kay informed me that she wasn't going to numb me for the procedure.
Ok, granted it was 5:30 and the office closes at 6, but that's no reason to cut corners, is it? We're talking about tooth nerves, after all. I grimaced and said, "you know, it hurt when you blew air on it just a second ago." I glanced at the drill as she affixed a conical bit and closed my eyes.
"Well, let's just see how you do," she said, altogether too pleasantly.
I paused. "Is that a challenge, Dr. Kay?" I asked.
"Perhaps," she replied, "Now open your mouth."
I complied, waiting for the moment when she would hit the nerve and my entire body would hit the ceiling. Surprisingly enough, though, that moment never came.
"I'm going to try to rebuild your tooth without removing more of the tooth," she explained. "Let's hope it holds. Otherwise, you'll have to come back in and we'll have to get serious."
Get serious. Hmmm. So this is the corner being cut, eh? I knew from my reading on dental repairs while I waited in the lobby that molars are exceptionally hard to fix due to the tremendous pressures exerted upon them during mastication.
Sure, I had hope that she would perform a miracle and it would hold, but the nagging voice of doubt in the back of my mind told me that I would be back. The process took twenty mostly-painless minutes and I left glad to be able to chew again.
The tooth broke again the next morning.
----------------
Now playing: Laurie Johnson Orchestra - Sucu Sucu
via FoxyTunes
She's tried this once already, but the composite didn't stick. After looking at my busted toof, she tsk-tsk-ed and asked how I managed to break my farthest backmost molar.
"I had a rock in my broccoli from Whole Foods," I sighed. My buddy, Mark, said that I had a rockoli for lunch - I laughed a bittersweet laugh. It was funny but my tooth is still broken.
Anyway, yes I had a rock in my brocc and I think I swallowed the offending pebble. However, I managed to salvage something hard and white out of the mess in my mouth, but I think it's just part of the tooth. It's in a small, 3"x2" manila envelope and hopefully I'll be able to get Whole Foods to pay for my visits to Dr. Kay.
Anyway, my first visit wasn't without drama, but it's boring drama so I'll avoid it. Instead, I'll pick up with me in the dentist's chair, watching the hygienist bust open plastic packets of sterilized stainless steel tools in order to dump them in a clatter onto an aluminum tray. After all the tools were heaped onto the tray, she proceeded to scooch them around into a rough assemblage that I can only assume is Dr. Kay's preferred heap of instruments. The best part was the horse-sized needle that she loaded with numbing agent and stabbed through a piece of cardboard to prop it up on the tray. The industrial syringe looked exactly like this one:
. . . minus the istock watermark, of course. I wanted to snap a photo of it sitting on the tray, but two things happened at that moment.
1. My phone fainted at the sight (or at least, it ran out of batteries)
2. Dr. Kay informed me that she wasn't going to numb me for the procedure.
Ok, granted it was 5:30 and the office closes at 6, but that's no reason to cut corners, is it? We're talking about tooth nerves, after all. I grimaced and said, "you know, it hurt when you blew air on it just a second ago." I glanced at the drill as she affixed a conical bit and closed my eyes.
"Well, let's just see how you do," she said, altogether too pleasantly.
I paused. "Is that a challenge, Dr. Kay?" I asked.
"Perhaps," she replied, "Now open your mouth."
I complied, waiting for the moment when she would hit the nerve and my entire body would hit the ceiling. Surprisingly enough, though, that moment never came.
"I'm going to try to rebuild your tooth without removing more of the tooth," she explained. "Let's hope it holds. Otherwise, you'll have to come back in and we'll have to get serious."
Get serious. Hmmm. So this is the corner being cut, eh? I knew from my reading on dental repairs while I waited in the lobby that molars are exceptionally hard to fix due to the tremendous pressures exerted upon them during mastication.
Sure, I had hope that she would perform a miracle and it would hold, but the nagging voice of doubt in the back of my mind told me that I would be back. The process took twenty mostly-painless minutes and I left glad to be able to chew again.
The tooth broke again the next morning.
----------------
Now playing: Laurie Johnson Orchestra - Sucu Sucu
via FoxyTunes
Sunday, February 03, 2008
They say a picture's worth a thousand words. By the end of this entry, I'll have posted the equivalent of 4050 words, give or take a dozen. I'd say that's a good first day back, wouldn't you?
Ok, fine. It's a cop out. And for those of you who are counting my actual words - cease and desist! In all likelihood, I'll have written WAY over 50 actual words by the time this is done. So with that unnecessary caveat out of the way . . . on to the pictures! (all photos were taken with my camera phone, btw)
Sadco. I can't think of a place that surpasses Sadco in "I-don't-want-to-work- there"-ability. I'm using this photo as my cellphone's wallpaper right now, and I get depressed every time I flip it open to make a phone call. The idea of going to work everyday at Sadco is in itself saddening . . . which makes this a very successful business, apparently.
Here's a fabulous place in San Anselmo that I hadn't noticed before, though how it has escaped my attention until now baffles me even as I type this. I type in a state of baff-L-mohn to be continental about it. The picture above shows the main hall of the San Francisco Theological Seminary which does not loom large over the Golden Gate bridge as the website might lead you to believe. Instead, SFTS is located on a low hill in San Anselmo, CA, a town nestled in the evening shadow of Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County. I spotted a tower or two as I made my way to Marin Coffee Roasters and had to check it out. There's some swell architectural detail to be found there, too. Case in point . . .
Here's the door to their memorial chapel. Dig those hinges, man! I think each individual hinge on that door weighs more than the entire congregation attending services each Sunday. Seemed pretty quiet on the grounds today. As I meandered about, I didn't encounter a single soul. Some neat details are embedded on the archway's facade for those of you who are dying to see some pixellated close-ups.
At the end of the arch on the right hand side is an architectural stone carved with the likeness of a child.
The opposite end of the arch has a stone with an elderly, bearded man. Both figures have their eyes closed, one in birth and one in death. Fascinating! I expected there to be some sort of profound verse from the Bible etched into the arch along the lines of " A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth" or something. Instead, it just says "Montgomery Memorial" which is okay, I guess, if you know what it is about Montgomery that you are memorializing.
So there you have it. A photo in the blog is worth two in the phone and if each photo is worth a thousand words, I've actually posted well over 10,000 words worth. Now that's productive (and somewhat cliche-skewing).
----------------
Now playing: Amon Tobin - Proper Hoodidge
Ok, fine. It's a cop out. And for those of you who are counting my actual words - cease and desist! In all likelihood, I'll have written WAY over 50 actual words by the time this is done. So with that unnecessary caveat out of the way . . . on to the pictures! (all photos were taken with my camera phone, btw)
Sadco. I can't think of a place that surpasses Sadco in "I-don't-want-to-work- there"-ability. I'm using this photo as my cellphone's wallpaper right now, and I get depressed every time I flip it open to make a phone call. The idea of going to work everyday at Sadco is in itself saddening . . . which makes this a very successful business, apparently.
Here's a fabulous place in San Anselmo that I hadn't noticed before, though how it has escaped my attention until now baffles me even as I type this. I type in a state of baff-L-mohn to be continental about it. The picture above shows the main hall of the San Francisco Theological Seminary which does not loom large over the Golden Gate bridge as the website might lead you to believe. Instead, SFTS is located on a low hill in San Anselmo, CA, a town nestled in the evening shadow of Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County. I spotted a tower or two as I made my way to Marin Coffee Roasters and had to check it out. There's some swell architectural detail to be found there, too. Case in point . . .
Here's the door to their memorial chapel. Dig those hinges, man! I think each individual hinge on that door weighs more than the entire congregation attending services each Sunday. Seemed pretty quiet on the grounds today. As I meandered about, I didn't encounter a single soul. Some neat details are embedded on the archway's facade for those of you who are dying to see some pixellated close-ups.
At the end of the arch on the right hand side is an architectural stone carved with the likeness of a child.
The opposite end of the arch has a stone with an elderly, bearded man. Both figures have their eyes closed, one in birth and one in death. Fascinating! I expected there to be some sort of profound verse from the Bible etched into the arch along the lines of " A good name is better than fine perfume, and the day of death better than the day of birth" or something. Instead, it just says "Montgomery Memorial" which is okay, I guess, if you know what it is about Montgomery that you are memorializing.
So there you have it. A photo in the blog is worth two in the phone and if each photo is worth a thousand words, I've actually posted well over 10,000 words worth. Now that's productive (and somewhat cliche-skewing).
----------------
Now playing: Amon Tobin - Proper Hoodidge
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Sunday, December 09, 2007
A Glimpse Into My Weekend
After a Saturday morning's-worth of reading, I decided I needed some lunch. But where to go? I didn't want Subway, I knew that. In fact, I spent an inordinate amount of time not wanting Subway because I couldn't think of a better option. After entertaining the idea that I might hop into the Beastlet [for those of you who don't know, the Beastlet is the name of my trusty jeep - tt] and drive to Whole Foods in Glendale when I have about twenty restaurants within shambling distance from my house, a brainwave hit me. I was feeling sandwichy, but I wanted something fresh and hearty, not processed and mealy. I grabbed my sweatshirt and walked out the door. The sun was shining and a steady cool wind blew in my face as I made my way down Riverside Drive to a place that was guaranteed to have what I was looking for. Namely this:
A meat on meat sandwich from Honeybaked Ham - that's the ticket. I took a place by the window to watch the passersby. As I slowly devoured my layer-ed feast, I began to notice something. There were plenty of pedestrians out and about, but the only variety who seemed to be coming into the restaurant were of the male variety. Not just the male variety, but the (sweat/tee)shirted male variety. Males conspicuously devoid of female companionship. I turned around in my seat to look behind me into the dining area. I then quickly turned back around because I needed to grab my cameraphone, but then I turned around once again to snap a picture.
All guys. All with their heads hanging down or with their hands in their pockets. Normally, I would have found this immensely depressing. However, considering the fact that I, too, was unshaven and wearing a smelly sweatshirt, I had to laugh. Where do you go when you find yourself in Toluca Lake and hungry, and you are bereft of your lady-friend? Why, Honeybaked Ham, of course! Nourishing the body and soul for over 40 years.
After a Saturday morning's-worth of reading, I decided I needed some lunch. But where to go? I didn't want Subway, I knew that. In fact, I spent an inordinate amount of time not wanting Subway because I couldn't think of a better option. After entertaining the idea that I might hop into the Beastlet [for those of you who don't know, the Beastlet is the name of my trusty jeep - tt] and drive to Whole Foods in Glendale when I have about twenty restaurants within shambling distance from my house, a brainwave hit me. I was feeling sandwichy, but I wanted something fresh and hearty, not processed and mealy. I grabbed my sweatshirt and walked out the door. The sun was shining and a steady cool wind blew in my face as I made my way down Riverside Drive to a place that was guaranteed to have what I was looking for. Namely this:
A meat on meat sandwich from Honeybaked Ham - that's the ticket. I took a place by the window to watch the passersby. As I slowly devoured my layer-ed feast, I began to notice something. There were plenty of pedestrians out and about, but the only variety who seemed to be coming into the restaurant were of the male variety. Not just the male variety, but the (sweat/tee)shirted male variety. Males conspicuously devoid of female companionship. I turned around in my seat to look behind me into the dining area. I then quickly turned back around because I needed to grab my cameraphone, but then I turned around once again to snap a picture.
All guys. All with their heads hanging down or with their hands in their pockets. Normally, I would have found this immensely depressing. However, considering the fact that I, too, was unshaven and wearing a smelly sweatshirt, I had to laugh. Where do you go when you find yourself in Toluca Lake and hungry, and you are bereft of your lady-friend? Why, Honeybaked Ham, of course! Nourishing the body and soul for over 40 years.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
For all you Halloweenies out there . . .
There's a site that allows you to carve a pumpkin right on your very own computer screen - no messy pumpkin guts scooping or burnt pumpkin seeds because you forgot about them when "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" came on TV required! Yes, it's one more thing to distract me from real life. Some would say, why play bowling on your Wii when you can bowl at an actual bowling alley? and I would say,
"I don't own a Wii."
You can visit the site here. If any of you feel like you have a masterpiece, print screen and post it in the comments.
Here's my contribution to the Art-O-Lantern fracas.
I call him "Cool Guy McPumpkin." See how happy he is to eat . . . I mean meet you?
There's a site that allows you to carve a pumpkin right on your very own computer screen - no messy pumpkin guts scooping or burnt pumpkin seeds because you forgot about them when "It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown" came on TV required! Yes, it's one more thing to distract me from real life. Some would say, why play bowling on your Wii when you can bowl at an actual bowling alley? and I would say,
"I don't own a Wii."
You can visit the site here. If any of you feel like you have a masterpiece, print screen and post it in the comments.
Here's my contribution to the Art-O-Lantern fracas.
I call him "Cool Guy McPumpkin." See how happy he is to eat . . . I mean meet you?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Your Humble Narrator Got a Boo Boo.
Really, I'm somewhat incredulous about the whole thing. Nonplussed? Perplexed? Perhaps. It all began on Tuesday. I was jazzed about our first D-League softball game. See, the Legion of Doom graduated from our tenure in the E-League to the more-competitive, less forgiving D-League. Honestly, I can't imagine what the A-League must be like.
Anyway, I was rarin' to go. I'd prepped and stretched and warmed up, I visited the batting cages and swatted a few balls to the moon - well, not exactly - I swatted a few balls REALLY HARD into the net at the back of the cage. Felt good. Felt strong. Felt comfortable. Felt relaxed.
I wanted to win in our debut.
Our opponents, the Lockouts, were recently demoted from the C-League so they came ready to prove that there must have been some sort of gross scheduling error and they still deserved to be in the C-League. Interesting thing about the lockouts, they have a sponsor. He happens to be a locksmith. What he gets out of it for his investment, I have no idea.
Anyway, as the we warmed up for the game, we played a little infield. I stopped some balls from getting past me, made good throws . . . why, I could play any position! I'll do well tonight.
Or so I thought.
In the last few minutes of warm-ups, the outfielders gathered to catch a few fly balls hit by Eric. I was feeling good, so I wasn't trying too hard for very many. However, there was one that was hit to me that I couldn't deny. I made an attempt at it somewhat belatedly and came up just shy of the catch.
And I mean, just shy. The ball missed my glove by a millimeter and smacked into my toe. Yes, my big toe. I lunged forward in an effort to make the catch so my foot was way out in front of me. The ball, arching toward the ground as balls do, hit me in the toe and went flying off to who knows where.
I howled and hopped, but I was convinced that I would be ok after the initial pain subsided. No go. It continued to hurt and swell. Couldn't play in the field, but I batted anyway. I'd hobble to first and then get a pinch runner. The toe continued to ache. Probably a bad idea. I took my shoe off to take a look at the damage. The nail was black and the toe was red. Hmm. Guess I'll lose the nail. No big deal. Should feel fine in a couple days.
Last night, the ol' toe blew up like an overstuffed sausage and hurt at about a 6 on the pain o' meter you see hanging on the wall at the doctor's office. Odd. I decided at that point to go to the doctor if there was no improvement today.
I woke up and the toe felt pretty good. Ok. Should be fine then. But as the day wore on, it felt worse and worse. Finally, I took my shoe off to take a look at it. My bosses asked to see it and said, "You need to go to the doctor right now." Ok ok ok. I'm going.
Got to Urgent Care. They were able to see me almost right away. Doc took one look at my toe and said,
"Well, that definitely needs to be drained."
My face dropped. "Really?" I said. "Isn't the blood dry by now?" "Not likely," he replied as he walked back into the room carrying what appeared to be a travel canister for a toothbrush.
"You gonna drill?" I asked, trying to sound as manly and disinterested as I could.
"With this?" he said as he removed the cap. "Naw, this burns red hot, see?" He flicked a switch on the side of the case and a small element at the tip lit with a sudden, angry glow.
"Oh, great," I choked. "Does it hurt?" I felt like I was five years old.
"Only if I hit anything other than the toe," he replied lightly.
"Jiminy Christmas," I breathed.
He laughed and said, "Why don't you just lay back? This'll be over in a second."
"You're sure it doesn't hurt?"
"You'll be fine."
"Ok."
"Try to relax now."
My leg was as rigid as possum in a meat locker. I did my best to relax, but my body rebelled. Just. Get. It. Over. With. And . . .
He daubed my toe with some gauze. "All done."
"What?"
"All done."
"But I didn't feel anything!"
"I must have done a good job then."
"I guess so."
We discussed my toe. It should have been feeling better with the pressure off, but I still couldn't bend it without pain. It needed X-Rays. As the blood drained from my nail, he left the room to fetch the X-Ray tech. I heard him telling some nurses about my "Jiminy Christmas" exclamation and laughing. "How cute!" someone said.
I felt like I was five AND a wuss. Thanks doc. Guess it's my own fault, but still, that's harsh.
The X-Ray tech came in shortly after and pointed me into the room with the machinery et al.
"In here?" I asked.
"Yes yes, please go in," he said.
"Alri-ight."
This is why I was skeptical.
I got my foot x-rayed in, what appears to be, the file cabinet. And no, that blue item isn't a fashionable silk cravat; it is, in fact, a lead-filled thyroid shield. He couldn't get my toe to lay down on the film so I sat up and hunched next to the machine to get my foot flat for the image. Always a pleasant feeling, covering up your sensitive bits with lead and leaning toward a machine that buzzes and clicks and spews invisible death rays. A real treat.
After that, we discovered that the bone is broken. The tip is chipped. No fractures, no severing, no surgery required. Just a clean chip which my body will eventually absorb. In the meantime, I have a sore toe, I'm on antibiotics and I won't be running or playing any softball any time soon.
Does this mean more time for blogging? I know that I hope so.
----------------
Now playing: Wax Tailor - Am I Free
via FoxyTunes
Really, I'm somewhat incredulous about the whole thing. Nonplussed? Perplexed? Perhaps. It all began on Tuesday. I was jazzed about our first D-League softball game. See, the Legion of Doom graduated from our tenure in the E-League to the more-competitive, less forgiving D-League. Honestly, I can't imagine what the A-League must be like.
Anyway, I was rarin' to go. I'd prepped and stretched and warmed up, I visited the batting cages and swatted a few balls to the moon - well, not exactly - I swatted a few balls REALLY HARD into the net at the back of the cage. Felt good. Felt strong. Felt comfortable. Felt relaxed.
I wanted to win in our debut.
Our opponents, the Lockouts, were recently demoted from the C-League so they came ready to prove that there must have been some sort of gross scheduling error and they still deserved to be in the C-League. Interesting thing about the lockouts, they have a sponsor. He happens to be a locksmith. What he gets out of it for his investment, I have no idea.
Anyway, as the we warmed up for the game, we played a little infield. I stopped some balls from getting past me, made good throws . . . why, I could play any position! I'll do well tonight.
Or so I thought.
In the last few minutes of warm-ups, the outfielders gathered to catch a few fly balls hit by Eric. I was feeling good, so I wasn't trying too hard for very many. However, there was one that was hit to me that I couldn't deny. I made an attempt at it somewhat belatedly and came up just shy of the catch.
And I mean, just shy. The ball missed my glove by a millimeter and smacked into my toe. Yes, my big toe. I lunged forward in an effort to make the catch so my foot was way out in front of me. The ball, arching toward the ground as balls do, hit me in the toe and went flying off to who knows where.
I howled and hopped, but I was convinced that I would be ok after the initial pain subsided. No go. It continued to hurt and swell. Couldn't play in the field, but I batted anyway. I'd hobble to first and then get a pinch runner. The toe continued to ache. Probably a bad idea. I took my shoe off to take a look at the damage. The nail was black and the toe was red. Hmm. Guess I'll lose the nail. No big deal. Should feel fine in a couple days.
Last night, the ol' toe blew up like an overstuffed sausage and hurt at about a 6 on the pain o' meter you see hanging on the wall at the doctor's office. Odd. I decided at that point to go to the doctor if there was no improvement today.
I woke up and the toe felt pretty good. Ok. Should be fine then. But as the day wore on, it felt worse and worse. Finally, I took my shoe off to take a look at it. My bosses asked to see it and said, "You need to go to the doctor right now." Ok ok ok. I'm going.
Got to Urgent Care. They were able to see me almost right away. Doc took one look at my toe and said,
"Well, that definitely needs to be drained."
My face dropped. "Really?" I said. "Isn't the blood dry by now?" "Not likely," he replied as he walked back into the room carrying what appeared to be a travel canister for a toothbrush.
"You gonna drill?" I asked, trying to sound as manly and disinterested as I could.
"With this?" he said as he removed the cap. "Naw, this burns red hot, see?" He flicked a switch on the side of the case and a small element at the tip lit with a sudden, angry glow.
"Oh, great," I choked. "Does it hurt?" I felt like I was five years old.
"Only if I hit anything other than the toe," he replied lightly.
"Jiminy Christmas," I breathed.
He laughed and said, "Why don't you just lay back? This'll be over in a second."
"You're sure it doesn't hurt?"
"You'll be fine."
"Ok."
"Try to relax now."
My leg was as rigid as possum in a meat locker. I did my best to relax, but my body rebelled. Just. Get. It. Over. With. And . . .
He daubed my toe with some gauze. "All done."
"What?"
"All done."
"But I didn't feel anything!"
"I must have done a good job then."
"I guess so."
We discussed my toe. It should have been feeling better with the pressure off, but I still couldn't bend it without pain. It needed X-Rays. As the blood drained from my nail, he left the room to fetch the X-Ray tech. I heard him telling some nurses about my "Jiminy Christmas" exclamation and laughing. "How cute!" someone said.
I felt like I was five AND a wuss. Thanks doc. Guess it's my own fault, but still, that's harsh.
The X-Ray tech came in shortly after and pointed me into the room with the machinery et al.
"In here?" I asked.
"Yes yes, please go in," he said.
"Alri-ight."
This is why I was skeptical.
I got my foot x-rayed in, what appears to be, the file cabinet. And no, that blue item isn't a fashionable silk cravat; it is, in fact, a lead-filled thyroid shield. He couldn't get my toe to lay down on the film so I sat up and hunched next to the machine to get my foot flat for the image. Always a pleasant feeling, covering up your sensitive bits with lead and leaning toward a machine that buzzes and clicks and spews invisible death rays. A real treat. After that, we discovered that the bone is broken. The tip is chipped. No fractures, no severing, no surgery required. Just a clean chip which my body will eventually absorb. In the meantime, I have a sore toe, I'm on antibiotics and I won't be running or playing any softball any time soon.
Does this mean more time for blogging? I know that I hope so.
----------------
Now playing: Wax Tailor - Am I Free
via FoxyTunes
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Disturbing Trends
I've noticed a disturbing trend in the blog-o-sphere. Perhaps it's that Halloween is drawing nigh. Perhaps it's because the weather is changing and it's making people act squirrelly. Whatever the case may be, the bloggers are showing us "See Food."
This is Steve from thesneeze.com demonstrating to his faithful readers that he did indeed eat the tree brain! We were, of course, thrilled to hear that he would be eating the tree brain. After all, there have been rumors circulating about that it's edible. Experts writing in, mysterious strangers sneaking tastes from the brain and then the brain "happens" to disappear the next day - intrigue! The entire brain timeline is here. Well, he ate it, and to prove it, he posted the intimate, semi-gruesome pics of his stubbly, masticating maw. I have to admit, I was a bit put out by the photo above, but whatevs! It's all part of the schtick, right? Surely, I won't be subjected to this on a daily basis.
But then today, as I perused another favorite site, I stumbled upon this . . .
Roger Barr, the webmaster of i-mockery.com, presents his bestubbled pie hole to the world, candy tattoos emblazoned on his tastebuds. (The entire Halloween candy review can be found here.) Again gruesome.
What in the name of Google is going on here?! Unshaven Gen Y blog ninjas are snapping photos of their befooded tongues and posting them on the internet, that's what, and I'll be consarned if I let them start an internet trend without me.
Here I am demonstrating what happens after you enjoy a starlight mint for ten minutes. Aren't you thrilled at the close-up, intimate portrait of a twenty-something and his culinary adventures? Yeah, I thought so.
----------------
Now playing: Carly Simon - You're So Vain
via FoxyTunes
I've noticed a disturbing trend in the blog-o-sphere. Perhaps it's that Halloween is drawing nigh. Perhaps it's because the weather is changing and it's making people act squirrelly. Whatever the case may be, the bloggers are showing us "See Food."
This is Steve from thesneeze.com demonstrating to his faithful readers that he did indeed eat the tree brain! We were, of course, thrilled to hear that he would be eating the tree brain. After all, there have been rumors circulating about that it's edible. Experts writing in, mysterious strangers sneaking tastes from the brain and then the brain "happens" to disappear the next day - intrigue! The entire brain timeline is here. Well, he ate it, and to prove it, he posted the intimate, semi-gruesome pics of his stubbly, masticating maw. I have to admit, I was a bit put out by the photo above, but whatevs! It's all part of the schtick, right? Surely, I won't be subjected to this on a daily basis.But then today, as I perused another favorite site, I stumbled upon this . . .
Roger Barr, the webmaster of i-mockery.com, presents his bestubbled pie hole to the world, candy tattoos emblazoned on his tastebuds. (The entire Halloween candy review can be found here.) Again gruesome.What in the name of Google is going on here?! Unshaven Gen Y blog ninjas are snapping photos of their befooded tongues and posting them on the internet, that's what, and I'll be consarned if I let them start an internet trend without me.
Here I am demonstrating what happens after you enjoy a starlight mint for ten minutes. Aren't you thrilled at the close-up, intimate portrait of a twenty-something and his culinary adventures? Yeah, I thought so.
----------------
Now playing: Carly Simon - You're So Vain
via FoxyTunes
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Mixed Messages
I really don't know what to make of this. The "Kids Funtown NAPA AutoCare Center" in Montrose, CA. Really, who thought this signage combo was a good idea?
The mind could stretch to the possibility of a NAPA AutoCare Center WITH a Kids Funtown attached - gotta keep the kids occupied whilst getting the struts restrutted, and there's only so many times Junior can leaf through "4x4 Aficionado" before he becomes mutinously bored. Send him to the NAPA Funtown Kids AutoCare Center Happytime Park and Bagel Bakery! There he can put together 70 of the pieces that still exist from the 500 piece jigsaw puzzle or move around the multicolored beads on the much-sneezed-upon activity center that rests in the middle of the room on the foam-rubber KidMats. Now that's a Funtown. In all honesty, though, I never understood those activity centers. I remember being very young and asking myself, "Now what am I supposed to do with this thing exactly? I don't want to follow the prescribed path for these beads." Ok, so I didn't use the word "prescribed" in my 2-year-old internal monologue, so sue me. Nevertheless, I had no interest in moving wooden shapes on a thick, crayola-colored wire - back and forth, back and forth - with no freedom of movement, and no payoff. Inevitably, I would be shifted from my tenuous attention to the activity c. by some largish, 3-yr-old devotee who was thrilled as a tick at the Westminster Dog Show to be sliding beads on a wire. No thanks.
One of those things resides in the waiting room of my "favorite" Pep Boys mechanic; I usually end up casting sidelong glances at it while I sit in the waiting room. I still don't get it. Why is it such a ubiquitous item in the most miserable of places? - doctor's offices, mechanics, & pathetic, paperback-strewn public libraries.
----------------
Now playing: David Bowie - Starman
via FoxyTunes
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