The Rain

It’s raining for the second day in row here in Los Angeles.  I know, it’s crazy.  I can’t even recall the last time it rained…perhaps last January or February?  Hank has never experienced rain before and finds it fascinating.  He watches the water as it drops and falls and splatters on the ground with a snap-plop-splash.  I’ve never seen him so relaxed.  It’s as if the rain has put him under a trance.

Last night I went to a party and came out at midnight to see a group of young people huddling under a canopy.  They were waiting to get inside the bar next door and there were dozens of them.  The canopy was only 5×5 at most and seeing them all squished in like that reminded me of farm animals in a pen.  But fashionably dressed of course.  As the rain came down and the young women in their high heels squealed, I marveled at how bad Angelenos are in inclement weather.

Driving in the rain out here is a joke.  As far as the people of Los Angeles are concerned, rain is as cataclysmic as any other natural disaster.  We only know one weather; sunny.  So what are we supposed to do when the sun goes away?  Women cancel their appointments.  Students miss school.  Men refuse to take the dogs out.  Life as Los Angeles knows it comes to a screeching halt.  It’s raining, dammit!!!

I happen to like it and use the rain as an excuse to stay home and relax.  No gym.  No errands.  No nothing.  You can catch me on a rainy day in one of two places; home or at the library.

Word of the Day

I don’t usually pull out the word of the day until the end of the week, but with Hank’s little adventure, work, and the big ‘W’…I’m pooped.  I even look like a train wreck.  One of my clients told me to ‘go home and get some rest’ yesterday with a hesitant pat on my back.  I wasn’t sure if the hesitation came from fear of how bad I looked (like a I might be contagious) or pity for how bad I looked (like I might break), but I wasn’t offended.  Once a woman at the gym told me how excited she was for me that I was losing all the baby weight.  Even then I wasn’t offended and I don’t have a baby.  I saw it as a compliment; she could tell that I had been lifting weights and toning up.  Glass half full.

So in honor of being tired, looking tired, and still going full steam ahead, I give you triskaidekaphobia.  I thought it only fitting.

triskaidekaphobia \tris-ky-dek-uh-FOH-bee-uh\, noun:

Fear or a phobia concerning the number 13.

When Molly caught sight of Sara she felt a visceral reaction; Sara’s appearance was much more frightening than the number thirteen.  Why had Molly been plagued by a stupid number for so many years when an ever scarier being had been in front of her all this time?  And like that, Molly’s triskaidekaphobia was gone, only to be replaced by Exaustalunaphobia.

Exaustalunaphobia \ex-ahw-stah-FOE-bee-uh\, noun.

Fear or phobia concerning tired people who look more crazy than they did the day before.

The Fuzz and the Fuss

Last night on the way home from a friend’s birthday in downtown Los Angeles, Sam and I got pulled over by the Fuzz.  We’d only traveled a few blocks from our friend’s loft when the red and blue lights started flashing behind us.  Sam immediately knew what was wrong.  “I forgot to turn on my lights.”  He said sheepishly to the cop.  I guess it’s a common mistake with the Prius because the cops detained us for little less than 5 minutes before sending us off with well wishes for safer driving.  To be honest, it’s nearly impossible to tell the difference (inside the car at least) of whether the lights or on or not.  Note to Prius…better work on that.

Then we got home to the fuss; Hank had swallowed a foreign object.  This exciting revelation was followed by a night of vomitosous and an early morning phone call to the vet.  Looks like Hanky Panky might be getting his first x-ray.  And so the week begins.  Fuzz or Fuss, I’m already exhausted.

Newfie Breaks the Record

Buster, from Casselton, North Dakota is 7 feet long and 3 feet high.  At 180 pounds, this Newfoundland is not the largest dog alive, but may just be the tallest.  As you can see from the photo on your right, Boomer doesn’t even need a water bowl, but goes right to the source…the kitchen sink.  Who need an open toilet when you can just turn on the faucet?

The previous record for the tallest dog was held by Gibson from Grass Valley, California.  Gibson was a Great Dane who was almost 4 feet tall.  He unfortunately passed away from Cancer this past August.

On two legs, Gibson was just over seven feet tall.

In 2001, the Guinness Book of World Records named Hercules from Peabody, Massachusetts as the largest dog alive.  282 pounds with a 38-inch neck, this dog just looks fat if you ask me.  But with 282 pounds on him, I guess you couldn’t expect it all to be muscle.  Hercules is an Old English Mastiff.

The cutest dog alive however, is a little creature called Kiki.  Kiki was rescued from an animal shelter almost 6 years ago so her exact breed is unknown, although her vet hazards a guess at part Shih Tzu, part Brussels Griffon.  Kiki, also known as Kiki ‘the Wonder Dog’ can sway minds, stop traffic, and pretty much do whatever she wants because of her powers of cuteness.

Word Of the Day: Foofaraw

Today’s word is ‘foofaraw.’

foofaraw \FOO-fuh-raw\, noun:

1. Excessive or flashy ornamentation or decoration.
2. A fuss over a matter of little importance

As one who likes any word that sounds like poo, I’m immediately enamored of foofaraw.  Like hoopla or cattywampus or cockamamie, foofaraw is a word that brings an upward curving of the lips.  I of course, prefer the second definition of the word as the first already has so many wonderful-sounding words to describe it; gaudy, ostentatious, tawdry, pretentious, rococo, garish, vulgar – you can take your pick.

To use foofaraw as its second definition however, is like using the old adage ‘a mountain over a molehill.’  We could apply it to the headlines about Michelle Obama’s excessive and unprecedented use of White House staff for example:  What a foofaraw the press is making about 24 employees when former first lady, Jackie Kennedy had 40.

Or we could use it during a car accident: Please don’t make such a foofaraw about your car, sir.  It’s merely a dented bumper.

And I dare say, we could even use it during a dispute at work.  Since it sounds like poo I predict that it would diffuse almost any situation immediately:  Sales go up, sales go down, we really shouldn’t make such a foofaraw and by the way, I’m sorry I fired you.

Foofaraw.  Use it today.

Shoe Dilemma

I do impulsive buying every now again, but for the most part, I’m a deliberator.  For example, I’ve wanted a navy blue cashmere cardigan for about three years now, but don’t own one because I’m still looking…and  looking…and looking.  The thing is, I purchase things for longevity; will I wear this a year from now?  In ten?  Usually the answer is yes.  And so I match a trendy piece here with a classic piece there.  Some of the things so classic that they’re really and truly from the last century.  They call it ‘vintage,’ I call it raiding my grandmother’s closet.

And so brings us to our current blog: I’ve been wanting a pair of flats with a big, Minnie Mouse bow on them for a few years now.  My aunt has taken to wearing a pair of black velvet flats (with a gigantic bow of course) that were mine from high school until I outgrew them.  They’re darling and every time I come home I try to squeeze my feet back in so I can steal them from her.  It never works; the closest I can get is like having hobbled claw toes.  They’re made by Sam and Libby, which is more for kids these days, but who still have a fabulous adult line called Edelman.  And then Sunday I saw two pairs of bow-flats; one by Kate Spade and one by Miu Miu and I thought to myself, if you’re ever going to find a pair of shoes like those Sam and Libby ones, this is the time!

Here’s what I found:

1.  Velvet bow ballet flats in purple or blue.

2.  White patent leather bow ballet flat.

3.   Pink patent leather bow flat with crystals. And so that’s what on my mind.  I’m leaning towards shoe #1 or #2 because although I love pale pink (especially with a good pair of dark jeans), I already have a pair of navy suede flats with crystals.  Shoes #1 or #2 on the other hand, are timeless.  Perhaps I’ll just have to buy them both and see because I’m buying them for the long haul and I want something that I’m still going to like in a few.  Plus, hooray for free shipping!  So my readers, if you see anything else out there that reminds you of a Sam and Libby ballet flat with a Minnie Mouse bow, send them in please!  I’m a’looking…and a’looking…and a’looking,

The Murder, The Trial, The Release

The trial of Amanda Knox and Raffaele Sollecito for the murder of Meredith Kercher is coming to an end.  In the next few weeks the last of the testimonies will be heard and perhaps even as soon as the end of October, a verdict will be given.  Mark my words, they’re getting off.  The blame will be cast solely on the man from Africa and that will be that.

The coroner has given testimony that the knife found in Sollecito’s home is probably not the same knife that killed Kercher.  He also testified that there is no evidence that Kercher was killed by multiple people.  In addition, a neurologist said that Knox’s admission of killing Kercher was probably a lie due to the stress she was under by the Italian police to confess.  And last, but not least, the prosecutor is getting slammed by the press for past sins and current mess-ups.  It seems this case is wrapping up to be quite the waste of time.

So Knox and Sollecito will walk away free and clear of the charges against them for killing Knox’s roommate, Meredith Kercher.  Even Rudy Guede, the man who has been sentenced already, plans to appeal for his release.  And that will be that.  We might never know what really happened…or maybe like OJ, who got off for murdering his wife and her boyfriend, but whose badness eventually prevailed so that he’s now rightfully where he should be, in prison…maybe the one or ones who did this will see justice after all.  We can only hope.

Poor David Letterman

Who doesn’t love Dave?  Night after night he comes on like clockwork to make us laugh and to make fun of stupid celebrities.  And then last night this…

The thing is, the man works every day just like you and me.  Monday though Friday he gets up at 6am.  He writes his shows, shoots them, and then brainstorms with his writers for the next day.  Of course he’s going to have unta-unta time with women at work.  Where else is he?

In today’s modern world, we spend so much time in the office that inter-office romance is a given.  We try to meet people at the grocery store, but then that cute guy in the produce section turns out to be a closeted alcoholic.  We try to meet people at the bars, but then that leggy blond tells us she wants a baby…now.  We even try to meet people the old fashioned way, internet dating, but everyone we meet is gay, romantically-challenged, or unattractive.  So we turn to work.  At the office, we get to know one another and suddenly that gal with the overbite is the sexiest thing since beernuts.  The funny guy with the tummy is a dreamboat.  And that shy girl who always helps make coffee in the morning?  She’s exactly what we’ve always been looking for and never knew it.  In other words, we give one another a chance.

So I don’t blame Dave for getting a little action at work.  If he’d gone out to a bar, a thousand cheap sluts would’ve jumped at the chance because, he’s Dave.  But instead he developed attractions with people he knew; the chubby woman who made him laugh, the smart woman who booked the talent, the quiet girl who brought him lunch.  If I were him I totally would’ve done the same thing.  Oh who am I kidding?  I’d be all over those Hollywood parties like a fly on jam.  Heidi Klum, Penelope Cruz, Sienna Miller…notches on my man belt.

And here’s one for the road…have a great weekend.

And Now I Hate Nike

Nike, Nike, Nike…  I’ve got a memory like an elephant and it’s going to be a looooong time before I buy you again.  Nike recently signed an endorsement deal with Michael Vick, agreeing to pay the former animal-abuser the big bucks to wear their merchandise and hop around in their commercials.  I don’t blame Vick for signing the agreement, he’s the scum of the earth.  He’d sign a deal with Vagistat if they offered it.  No, who I do blame is Nike.

With all of the money they have to throw around and all of the athletes out there hungry for a little piece of it, why in the world would they endorse a man like Michael Vick.  Let’s remember please that “According to the prosecutor’s statement of facts… between 2002 and 2007 Michael Vick…killed thirteen dogs by various methods including wetting one dog down and electrocuting her, hanging, drowning and shooting others and, in at least one case, by slamming a dog’s body to the ground.” * And Vick pleaded guilty to all of it.

Of course, we can’t forget what he’s most known for, starving pit bulls and putting them in a ring to fight and kill one another.  Sometimes even putting a family dog into the ring to see how fast the pit bull could kill the helpless animal.  This man is a terrible, terrible person!  Two of the animals that were rescued from his home are now therapy dogs who go to hospitals and work with cancer patients.  These animals were not bad animals.  It was Vick who starved them, beat them, electrocuted them…it was him and him alone who did this.  And now Nike is going to reward him for it?

His apology was for acting immaturely, but what about for being evil, inhumane, and demented?  He was sentenced to less than two years, which he didn’t even serve.  His career picked up right where it left off.  And now Nike is paying him money and endorsing him?  How is this okay?  The man made a profit from torturing animals!  He should be shunned and marked with a scarlet A for Abuser.

Nike – JUST SAY NO.

*

No Porn For Me Please

Yesterday afternoon I was sitting at the library with one of my students in Los Angeles.  Well to be precise, he was sitting there and I was late, but I was walking across the room as fast as my two legs could take me.  When I finally reached him, he whispered something I couldn’t hear and got up.  The next thing I knew he was conversing with the librarian at the front desk…and then my student walked back and sat down.  I asked him what was going on and he looked at me carefully.

“What is it?”  I asked again.

Through clenched teeth he whispered.  “That man is watching porn.”

“What man is watching porn?”  My eyes raced around the library.

He leaned closer to me and pointed with his head.  “That one.”  And sure enough, maybe 15 feet away from us, a man was watching porn on the computer.  At first I couldn’t be sure because 15 feet is a long distance, but then he clicked on one of the many little boxes on his screen and a woman’s big boobs began hitting the front of the computer screen. OH MY GOD.

We tried to work we really did, but it was impossible to stop from watching.  It was like a train wreck.  There was a man in a public library watching internet porn. I’m not making this up.  A few minutes later and another librarian  came over and began using the computer next to the porn-slut.  We watched like two old ladies waiting to see what happened next as the porn-slut changed the screen and he and the librarian had a Mexican stand-off.  Eventually the librarian walked away without ever having said anything and the porn-slut went back to watching porn.  This time something even more graphic than boobs.

“Holy $%^&!”  My student exclaimed and I looked up from trying to distract him by explaining inscribed circles (I know, not very distracting) to see…well, you know.  I jumped up and walked over to the librarian’s reference desk.

“Excuse me.”  I said to the tiny woman with the bob of brunette hair that made her look just like Mary Tyler Moore.  “There’s a man over there looking at pornography and it’s very disturbing.”

She shook her head sadly.  “It’s the library’s policy that people have the right to view whatever they want.  I’ll try to talk to him, but it’s his public right to look at it if he wants to.”  A minute later, she spoke with the porn-slut and to all of our surprises, he left.  My student and I breathed a sigh of relief.  What a weirdo.

At the end of our session, I walked up to the check-out desk to get my parking validated.  The librarian who stood there was the same one who my student had initially spoken to.  “So you saw one of our porn watchers?”

“Yeah.”  I said, shaking my head and thinking that he was joking…but what if he wasn’t.  “Really?”

“Oh yeah.  That’s why we have all those special screens on the computers.  It’s so that other people can’t see.  At least two-thirds of the men who come in here look at porn.”  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the screens didn’t work.

“That’s crazy.”  I said instead.  We talked for a few minutes about the freedom of information and then I left.  But not without one last glance around the library…what a weird day.  Who knew libraries could be so racy?  Or maybe I’m just lucky.  Things do seem to happen around me that don’t happen to other people, but porn at the library?  Even for me that’s a new one.