Pray upon the Prey

A summer checked out, off grid, with many book laden memories.  Very happy gave way to sad as I learned that one of my favorite writers and past crushes has been diagnosed with cancer.  The favored atheist part didn't fit in so seamlessly in the last sentence. Who else would throw stones at Mother Theresa? Adoration ballsy genius. The recent best seller Hitch-22 was a marvelously witty read. I enjoyed the Audible version of the book which was deliciously devoured as mental foreplay. .. Nothing like a little pillow talk or listen, more accurately as I drifted off to sleep

The articulately debonair Christopher Hitchens is under going treatment for esophageal cancer that has spread to his lymph nodes. Certainly not a great diagnosis in the scheme of fair odds. Life is what we make of it. A recent Atlantic Monthly interview says he shall continue on with writing and reading until he can't anymore. Brave and smart..

 On the atheist bent, and a perfect compliment: The little book of Atheist Spirituality by the french cuffed Parisian Andre Comte-Sponville. A refreshingly candid look at dogmatic transcendence and the masses that embrace religion as the warm sweater that shields one from all of lifes' pain. Add a cigarette if the mass is french

If only it were so easy..we would all be sporting hand knit full-body cozies. Cashmere for me please. Itchy wool for the Republicans.

Whenever I learn of ill health plaguing a friend or in this case favored author, I don't think about what's to come, only what's been given; so much to journalism, to politics, to the fine art of writing all tied neatly with a reverence and style unparalleled to anyone currently of the now and wow genre.

Hitchens was scheduled to talk about his book back in June, of course I was angry to find a postponed sign at the Commonwealth Club in SF on the eve of the event, I was hoping to saunter off and enjoy a cocktail or two with him, but alas it was not meant to be. My boo-hoo moment of morose knowing now the reasons behind the missed engagement feels very self indulgent, and not in a good way.

I will not pray for Mr.Hitchens.  I do not believe that will help his condition. A possible answer to his plight:  toast better living through technology.  I would be remiss if I did not remind him that he is a bon-vivant of such stature few if any will be able to follow. Let death be his muse and tease him. If the voice of unadulterated street smarts and swagga' with a sharp pencil must be silenced I would seek to remind him that his literary works will live on. Hopefully he shall too, the world would be too dull without him.

Welcome 2 My World

(8:30 a.m) Big Coffee gulp. A rush to pull myself together. Gasp... what the f@%k... is this a gray eye lash? What's next, my perfectly matched shoes won't match my bag, yes you know a bad euphemism when you see one.Always fun to see pubic hair color compared with shoes in print, no- but eyelashes.

Let's get back to where my focus lies. It's bad enough to resemble a shrew sans mascara but this, eyelash of gray- I say no way!  This is too much. When the fairest of all from afar dripping from his a.m. shower asks "when is this gray hair mania gonna end?' To which I reply, " when I take my final nap...in the dirt."

Welcome to my world and maybe yours too? At least as a non member of the Y chromosome group. Those F'ing Y's, just seem to magically become more distinguished with each gray sprouted. Anywhere.

The global cosmetic industry is now hovering around $60B.. to cater solely to my needs?
I'm in good company. NOT comforting. In the least bit.  

P.G Wodehouse concluded that the guillotine is the only cure for gray hair.   Comforting.

But why this manic management around aging? I surely can't be the only one fighting it tooth and nail (bleached and manicured thank you) The well is deep when one yells into it- the echo that returns- well, it's not what any of us want to hear. There is no magic fountain of youth. Poor ponce Del Leon. Most likely would've benefited from a squirt of Rogain, genital waxing, an obligatory trim to the lively Breshnev'brows (why don't men notice when the eyebrows go wacky and start reaching around to the back of the head, odd no?)

The truth is gray hair is inevitable. Research (yes, I 've done a bit) shows that we will all gray. Some sooner than others. Premature grayness can strike some in the early 20's. So I guess I should be happy wearing 45 years viola  internal alarm clock decides it's time. Come on bio-tech... let's fight a real threat to life. Either that or move to Rio.

Beauty isn’t just big business in Brazil — it’s HUGE!  $28 billion huge. Brazil’s beauty market is now the third largest on the planet (behind the U.S. and Japan) and despite a sluggish global economy it’s also one of the world’s fastest growing, at a 14% compounded rate from 2004-2009...
 Go ahead you Iowa and Nebraska beeknickbeauties, have another burger. Brazilian babes are having those beautiful buns buffed to perfection. Just when you thought it could not get any better.

Botox and Juviderm are fairly new and give youth a foot up. Ask yourself now: wanna resemble your nutty aunt with the placid forehead?

Feel this is simply a small price to pay for staving off the inevitable?  Not so much......

A few days ago that uber glam gurl, Zsa Zsa Gabor took a spill and broke her hip. At 93 she looks 50'ish... wide eyed and smoothed by facial fillers and who knows what else. The bright eyed look made me wonder if the overly stretched taughtness allows her to close her eyes and sleep. Research fleshed out that as we age the need to sleep lessens. Yes, Ms. Gabor is the extreme version of good chemistry gone bad. Suppose my true self shines. Wondering: when she came tumbling from bed what was she watching on the telly....porn. Nope..... Jeopardy!

Wink , wink Alex Trebec. She'd love to wink dahling..but a bit tight. kisses.

Snoozy Summer Slacker Style

Yes... I know I know... An entire month has vaporized as I look at my writing of rough draft posts..meaning: I write, but only for myself and only to realize that an entire month has gone by without a single snarky post.

Yes an Anniversary of sorts.. but not one I care to celebrate.

Slacker gurl self loath abounds, so off of that mind numbing exercise and off to greener mental pastures. Slather on a little more SPF 70.

This summer seems as unstructured as a lincoln log structure yet complex enough that one can mentally expand upon where-what-who to frolic with but that takes planning and plotting.

I think we all know the straight story ...it takes far too much time and energy to plan.

The current plan this summer? The plan is to make a plan and stick with it.

The Beach Boardwalk Friday scene is all our myopic planning can muster.  Beach ball bouncy happy and sun drenched, we sandy critters lounge with high SPF coverage and little else as we await the evening concert to kick start the weekend. Kick start is the correct verb here as the summer with it's frenetic energy can overwhelm even the most travel/party/beach savvy of the bunch.  My only wish for these frenetically fabulous evenings???  A bit more time to actually enjoy the scene as it truly is a quintessentially Santa Cruzian scene.

Which means no plastic boobs bobbing about, no high heels as they are sooo sand unfriendly, no attitude because it's Santa Cruz... and the best part>>>? A short beach walk home from the festivities.

Thursday evenings are a muddy drone of over amped sound from across the harbour. We seek out the best the beach scene has to offer and throw the Thursday eve scene to the out of town riffraff.

If live music is your thing, look no further than some sand in your plans http://www.beachboardwalk.com/concerts/

Summer Bummer

An unlikely place within my grey matter beckons me to question if this really is a good idea?. . .Organized summer commitments that is, like summer school. But for every negative, crybaby why-me whinge as of late I must at least smile at the karmic reality recently sun-kissed upon my freckled forehead.

Just when you think ya have the summer (or life for that matter) figured out something flies in the face of fun, frolic, and full-on favored existence.

The current fly in the gin & tonic?  Summer school. The dreaded sound of those two words.
As kids we feared the threat. As parents we fear the commitment. Speaking for myself- apropos to nothing it's consistent with my lack of stay-on-track. Speaking theoretically summer should be a time for goof off hang time accompanied with a high SPF at least when one has children or free time at hand or both.

I do commit. Sun screen rituals need to be followed. Vain, fair haired and sun sensitive bitch that I am, but the morning hurry scurry continues. How's that for Karma: just when the nice weather and calls from beach seeking friends return in tandem..damn it.

What's a irresponsible person to do? Organize.

Not my life, that's sooo un-summer. Car pool. Carpool Carma Come save us from all things commitment, I mean commuter laden, (except southbound US Open traffic on Hwy1..fuck'.)

So it is, a wee bit of positive karmic lint left in my bellybutton to finagle such a feat for those of you who have the inside skinny this is no small gift. Summer drama aside, the sand is warm and the UV rays off the charts.

Northwest swell' been a bit too sloppy for any serious surfboard/boggieboard/wakeboard fun. So let's sing my latest song:"when in doubt parse it out, there's no need to hover when you can find cover... from friends. Large vehicle drivin friends. VehicularVengence has no place in this sacred summer space, seek out large vehicles acquaintance or summer school parent . Carpool to Chartwell. Carpool to Chartwell. Foe is friend as well as neighbor and let us remember that five kids can't be crammed into a convertible mini, even when utilizing the trunk space as a time out place." It's time to go! Heve Ho, let's go..oh good I don't drive today-hooray! It's Carpool Carma Carpool Carmaaaaa. "


My new summer survival sonnet is sung in B-flat and best chased by a beachside beer (best enjoyed on those non-driving days.)
I need to work on that last verse, or turn that into the chorus. Bob Dylan could twist it for me, but why bother him...he's hopefully enjoying his summer. Do the same won't you?

Dante's Inferno: My idea of a Playdate

The simple act of writing a simple letter of apology to a dear friend has turned into the drama-rama of my year
(or at least right up there with that other bone-head thing I keep f'ing up, but I digress.)

A couple of summers ago I had a very drunk, very irish, very- wait I am repeating myself here... I spit out some nasty-ass words in a very venomous way (man can I spew) to a friend(s) who meant the world too me.

Fast forward to two Full years later, and I have yet to make a proper Mea Culpa. Until five fabulous min ago.

Hooray for procrastination. Hooray for Guilt, and Therapy, and a glass of Vino Verde.   A hugely hopeful moon this evening that is blindingly beautiful over the Pacific Ocean at this very moment.

So I suppose the best gift (If she accepts the apology letter that I've just licked the stamp for to that far flung zipcode in the east.)

Please note:  a mental cost-investment breakdown. Thanks for letting me share.

THERAPY $  10,920.00
one year of weekly sessions - (not including the double sessions when I was super loquacious) Working towards the goal of mending an important relationship with a girl friend.    I.E. writing letter stating the above mentioned drama-rama.

WINE/LIQUOR  $ 1000.00
This amount is small...yes. yes. I know..You're thinking liar liar pants on fire- but wait.  I gave up drinking as a "sport" in December 09/Jan..2010. I personally liked myself better as the witty, dancing drunk, with her lovely red locks in the lou...but alas that is for another pissy post so stay tuned as I envision a post paired with PMS and a fine zinfandel.

Kleenex $ 100.00
Cry baby tendencies aside, I still buy the good stuff, that leaves a soothing yet healing trace of aloe on my sniffling boo-hooing wet-nosed moments of the past. ( A quick sneak to pander to friends and kind strangers- you know who you are, patient and detail seeking subway token taker in the Toronto subway who listened and said just write it girll.. Accolades to my home team Olympic medal winners in the pitty-party Olympics. A stellar list of mental giants with P.H.d's in un-fucking up things that are fucked beyond belief, this includes my tolerant hairstylist, Robo, Colleen, and Rob.)  Gold baby... Pure Gold.

Writing the Mea Culpa letter $ PRICELESS.
Mea Culpa letter scrawled in my chicken scratch to the very fabu-lous Hillary Steinau (upon the very paper stock that I scold my kids for using) is simply priceless.



H
Fang Island Baby, August.  I propose a summit meeting of epic proportions and maybe a little arm wrestling ( 'cause you can and will kick my ass.) that's what I love about those Mainers.

Food Porn

What's not to like about this evening's dinner entree of reduced fat Ruffles potato chips and a bar of Scharffenberger dark chocolate? C'mon people, work with me here, unconventional works for dinner. Works very well indeed. Wash down dinner with a glass of French rose (because California Pinot based Rose' is just too damn sweet to wash down a nice potato chip of reduced fat and salt. )

The great part of being adult like is the ability to reason with ones' self that the reduced fat of the salty will underscore the antioxidants of the Scharffenberger.  To reduce dinner to such a mundane route requires a complete lack of planning. For a foodie, this lack of planning is really like rehab. Breaking the well planned route i.e. contemplating what might be a dinner option typically takes place after I have my coffee in the morning.  Lunch is typically a non sequitur, although pleasant surprises do indeed take place during mid day. Just not lately.

Friends just returned from a trip to Korea. In true foodie travel fashion, the mpeg video snippets are all of food. Travel should almost always be about the food experiences and the photo ops (typically of food, farmers markets or an edible delight.) These friends also jetted in for a visit to Shanghai once(pic @left) and although I thought the visit was to spend time with me, it was really about finding the best bowl of noodles (which we did indeed find as they were being made.) Jetting to exotic locals to "see" friends took on a very different meaning. Code for, you better get a handle on what's to eat in the 'hood because it's a real drag to disappoint a jet lagged lover of food.

A sort of food porn really, because the tease begins with the markets, prep and plating moving on to that final climax we all seek: enjoying the long sought after meal. My only question of course: where was the HD feature when one really needs it.
On the flip side, others may only experience a meal as a move along.
Glad I don't dine on that side of the table.

Time To Wean The 'Tween

The lay of the land has shifted when it comes to learning about the birds and bees. Gone are the days of stealing away to the garage with your dad's dog eared issues of Playboy. The G rated National Geographic always a giggle inducing page turner for the 4th grade and under crowd has been long over shadowed by the Internet.

When it comes to parental controls Apple has done a fine job, Thank-You Steve Jobs. Even the itouch gives you the ability to play stalag 13 quite literally as a parent. Initially I was against the lock-down And while I waved my ACLU card my tween aged consumers consumed media as if the itunes store were a colossal brain candy store.  I felt bad limiting my childrens' web exposure to pedestrian sites, knowing full well that curiosity can strike and the magic wand in reality is google.

Yesterday my rose colored glasses were smashed by a pair of size 5 Vans' as the reality took shape, it was just as I had been warned. Guess it takes one to know one, but when my uber IT muffin lectured the evils of unlimited bandwidth I could not would not listen. The beauty of the FireFox history is a savant like memory for key words. I was reading an Ipad history cache that reminded me of a Penthouse Forum column or a shopping list for a pervert (or in my case, a ten year old boy.)

Boobs, Pussy, Sex, Fuck, Fucking and the list goes on in that narrow vein of genre. As one can only imagine thousands of pages came back. Maybe this is where the idea of Santa and Magic cross over to reward the resourceful elementary school aged. Yes Virginia there Is a Santa and he likes to be spanked by a red-head sporting thigh high boots.

My parental tumble into the sexual abyss came long before I expected. I figured I had a few more years to parse the inevitable.. The stumble comes with the ipad. No flash ability means no club penguin, but no parental controls means that club penguin is no longer the fave stay for the after school elementary crowd. Think boobs.  Really big boobs.

Innocence is fleeting or in our case it's flown the coop, along with unlimited bandwidth.