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This could be sweeter
I tried out a new place (Wescafe in Alameda, CA), just yesterday. I had to tell the employee several times that I wanted an iced large latte
"A latte? What size?"
"Large please, iced."
"OK, a large latte,"
"Iced, please."
"Iced?"
"Yes, please, a large, iced latte."

It was like "Who's on first" without the wordplay.

Then I decided to get a pastry. Stupid me. They were all in a display case, no particular order, not like, a row of blueberry muffins, a row of chocolate croissants, but tumbled together. I saw something I thought was called a "morning bun," and asked "May I have a morning bun?"

"A what?"

"A morning bun...? This one up front, here."

"The chocolate croissant?"

"No, the morning bun, this one up front, here." (The chocolate croissant nearest the front was behind the morning bun.).

"That croissant?"

"Is it a croissant?" (I tend to doubt myself, unfortunately, and the flaky pastry is somewhat croissant-like.) "This one here, right here, right up front and center."

After a minute or two, she handed me a plate with a chocolate croissant.

"Excuse me, I wanted the...morning bun?" (By now I was certain that I had the name wrong, and was starting to wonder if English was actually coming out of my mouth.

"Oh, you SAID chocolate!"

"Ummm..." inside was a rant of "No, YOU SAID CHOCOLATE, AND I NORMALLY DO LIKE CHOCOLATE CROISSANTS BUT I AM SHARING WITH SOMEONE WHO IS ALLERGIC TO CHOCOLATE and DAMMIT GIVE!!! ME!!! THE!!! MORNING!!! BUN!!! or whatever it's actually called"

"This. one. up. front. Please."

"You said chocolate," she muttered.

"Well, I do want the morning bun. Please."

"Then don't ask for chocolate."

Later, I watched someone get an omelette when she had ordered a salad, and a similar fight.
Look, mistakes happen, but admit it. Even if I DID ask for a chocolate croissant, did I need to get agita if I had changed my mind (which I didn't, because--allergic! I've also had waiters swear that I ordered raspberry iced tea, which I hate, and that I ordered extra pepperoni or green peppers or other things that I said "Hold the..." about.)

I don't think I'll be going there again, unless I hear glowing reviews from a trustworthy source.

BTW, I checked, it is a morning bun. Also, the one I had at Wescafe sucked--it was almost raw in the middle, and stale on the outside, definitely not from Semifreddi's!

I am yearning for the waterflow next to my skin
I love swimming. It's a little like being a superhero.

Promote the general welfare and secure these blessings of liberty
Whoa, it's been a while, and I used to be so chatty. Most of you know I exist because I comment or you see me around in person, but, yeah, I'm OK.

Health is fine all around, Catherine is good but misses school, I'm good but miss working. Tiny part-time job helping rehab a friend's inherited house is helping immeasurable.

Tired of other people's drama. Trying hard not to participate.

Went to two really nice 4th of July parties; parade-watching at

howlgirl's (Hurrah for Fezziwig's! Prettiest float was Falun Dafa's giant lotus blossoms and marching practitioners going through exercises. Most fun float was the "Yay!" float, consisting mostly of someone holding up a sign that said "Yay!") followed by

purchasemonkey's 16th annual ("God, I'm old!") Indian Rock Park shenanigans (now with more They Might Be Giants, Those Darn Accordians!, Fluxx and American-style Kobe beef.), followed by my first time making it up to the rock (fog the last two years) and seeing, as promised, 5 (5½, really, there were huge redwoods obscuring one. Nice trees, be a shame if sumpin' should happen to the top 20 feet of 'em. Cryin' shame.) different fireworks displays, from mere shiny lights in San Rafael to an impressive view of Berkeley Marina, preceded by singing of patriotic songs ably lead by

ophymirage and followed by retiring to

purchasemonkey and

pixiecrack's lovely home for huge-screen viewing of America Rock and requests (which were mostly Grammar Rock oriented. The Monkey is right, Mr. Morton is awesome. Mr. Morton is.)

Can haz Firefox now (among other reasons, I enjoy YouTube, and would like to continue having it supported!)

Finances continue to vary from suckish to "Hey, I can manage party donations!"

Invited to the AC picnic tomorrow. I plan to spend time with friends I haven't seen since Dickens and friends I've seen quite recently but not often enough, to eat the lunch I'll be bringing and to play croquet. I love croquet.

Should I be Prue on a charitable outing or some nicer class of lady? Or alternate universe Prudence?

Let it ring for evermore.
To whomever just rang my landline:

That was genius, really. You were on the line just long enough that it rang one incredibly piercing ring (I have it turned up loud so that it wakes us in case of emergencies), enough to wake me up with that 3AM (or close enough) "OMIGOD WHO DIED WHAT'S WRONG WHATTIMEISIT STILLDARK WHO WHAT WHERE?!?" heartpounding feeling, but not long enough that Caller ID registered who you are.

If you're drunk dialing, you got the wrong number. Bugger off, no-one wants to talk to you at this hour. If you're one of the rare people who has my landline number, and intended to call me, why didn't you stay on the line? If you have an actual emergency, wrong number or no, call 911 first. Since you're not actually my child (I checked, she is sleeping soundly, which I envy but do not begrudge her) I sincerely doubt that there's anything I could do to help you before, say, 7 AM. If it wasn't an emergency, send an email, it'll keep until the morning check.

I sincerely hope that the mere 2 hours of sleep that I got before you so rudely interrupted wasn't a nap.

Extremely random poll
Poll #1419838 Have you ever been given drugs without knowing?
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All

Well, have you?

View Answers

Yes.
4 (13.8%)

No.
24 (82.8%)

I think so, I've had weird reactions that I couldn't explain.
1 (3.4%)

( Before you ask, )

And when she was happy, so was I
Very sweet story: Dying girl's last request is to see Up, Pixar makes it happen.

I’ll have to fill those adventures in for her,” [her mother] said.

But the thingmabob that does the job is bibbity, bobbity boo.
My Fairy Godmother(s?) is (are?) at it again. I received a generous Trader Joe's gift certificate in the mail today. No note, no return address, San Francisco postmark (a number of the suspects, and I've been told there are several, work in the City.).

So, since I don't know who you are, online is where I can say "Thank you." Thank you so very, very much. There will be a very impressive food shopping, mostly lovely, healthy things, but also a few bits of chocolate, some lovely sented soaps, and other small luxuries. Thank you.

To those of you who have forwarded job postings (I apply for every one which might remotely be a fit), thrown work my way, given me useful things and beautiful things, wined and dined me and sent me these lovely surprise mailings, thank you! Thanks to everyone who has said encouraging things, sent me music, and made me laugh.

Thank you for reminding me to be grateful. My life isn't perfect, or what I planned, but I have good friends, good hobbies, a daughter who makes sun shine, a family and friends that love me so much. I will strive to be the person you all believe I am.

Thank you all.

Yeah, I'm travelin' at the speed of light!
Finally, finally, got the zwinky toolbar and the default ask.com search engine, and a bunch of other accidental installs to go away.

So much faster, now!

Everybody hurts sometimes
Wrote a long post about ouchy calf, computer decided to crash in its occasional, quiet way. This is the shortened form of post, believe it or not.

Left calf quite suddenly seized up Thursday morning, felt like charlie horse, but would not go away with stretching, banana therapy, hydration or positive thinking. All online research said "Stop training so hard." Believe me, I got 99 problems, excessive atheletic training ain't one.

Inner monologue said "Now you're in for it, you'll never ever work again, you're only middling talented AND disabled, but not THAT disabled."

Ministry of Silly Walks ensued, pain, couldn't step down on heel unless bent knee sharply.

Better Friday morning. Better still Friday night. Slight twinge. Original inner monologue greatly exaggerated. Glad I didn't do whiny poor-me post that was in my head.

Not going to Free Folk Festival this weekend. Going to baby the leg a bit longer. Sleep would be nice.

I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Yes, the exception in this graph is valid. Otherwise, once in a while is OK only if you are sleeping in the same bed.

see more Funny Graphs

Superman, Superman, I wanna be like Superman
Sleep is good food. I'm a little neck-sore, still, but I feel better.

If I could have a useful superpower, I like Roberta Gregory's idea of The Empathy Ray; "I wouldn't want someone to steal my wallet."

I if could have a selfish superpower, I'd pick soignee.

You?

But that was on the outside
The next PEERS event (it's Saturday) takes place in the village. AMC has a lovely site for the Prisoner.
(Thanks to

sliv1 for sending it to

glad2dance who brought it to our collective attention!)

Hmmm, AMC is doing a miniseries remake; not the first time PEERS has been on the bleeding edge of retro popular culture.

Edited to add: Thanks

chrisfs, for sending a link to the Simpsons parody of the Prisoner.

Wild as a mink but sweet as soda pop, I still dream about that
I slept in this morning, and had fairly nice dreams about Dickens Fair and Renaissance Fair. The reason was probably the bluegrass playing from the Farmer's Market that is quite near me; the rhythms are very much Scots-Irish.

My first thought upon waking up at 8:15 was "Is that Acoustic Sunrise? Pretty." but then I realized it wasn't Sunday and I hadn't set the alarm. And the music wasn't loud enough for me to go back to sleep.

I was auditioning for a show at Dickens Fair with a really great Black-Eyed Peas song that I'm pretty sure doesn't exist, but that was in my range and sounded good. And I was at Renaissance Fair dance rehearsals in the late 80's, early 90's, only Catherine was there, too.

It was nice.

Alan Cumming, he's delicious, uber-fruity and nutritious
It came to my attention at the last PEERS event that

ophymirage did not recognize the name Alan Cumming. I find this shocking, it seems that he'd be just her cuppa tea, and my shock muddled my attempt at description; Scottish (though I found out he's ours now, he became an American citizen in 2008), bisexual, MC in the revival of Cabaret, bizarrely attractive, attractively bizarre, Nightcrawler in X-Men, he's...cool. He's...Alan Cumming.

Through the magic of the internets, I can let Mr. Cumming speak (and sing) for himself (S-nessFW varies, you should be able to figure it out from the descriptions.).

This relatively recent video of Alan Cumming making a martini has been sweeping Facebook lately. It kind of captures his Alan Cumming-ness, but doesn't begin to do him justice.

I first heard of Mr. Cumming when he won a Tony as the MC for the 1998 revival of Cabaret (he'd been acting in Scotland for several years at that point.) This Tony Awards performance of him and Joel Grey singing "Wilkommen" gives a really nice demo of the contrast between Mr. Cumming's sexually rampant performance vs. Mr. Grey's coyer, more fey rendition of the same role.

Here's Cumming as the MC in situ, performing "Wilkommen" in the production (The whole televised revival is on YouTube if you look for it, and it's definitely worth the hunt.)

His first mainstream role in the US, I believe Nightcrawler in X-Men United; he brought a lovely tenderness to the part.

On the set, the actors discussed Rebecca Romijn-(then-)Stamos' shapeshifting character, Mystique, and which form everyone would take if they could choose. Alan Cumming said "I would choose to look like Rebecca." Ms. Romjin-Stamos blushed and thanked him, before he added "Then I'd get to sleep with your dishy husband.

The title of this post is from Turd Ferguson's song Alan Cumming

Another Tony Awards performance, this one of Alan Cumming and Cyndi Lauper performing "The Threepenny Opera."

"Tell Your Children" from Reefer Madness: The Musical. Alan Cumming as a straitlaced Middle American: That's acting!

This PSA/condom commerical got my attention: Alan Cumming on Sex (and the importance of wearing a condom)!

Finally, here's the commercial for the (quite luscious-smelling, and I hate most colognes*) fragrance that inspired mention of him on that Saturday night

*"Bergamot, Black Pepper, Scotch Pine, Whiskey, Cigar, Heather, Douglas Fir, Rubber, Leather, Highland Mud, Burnt Rubber, Peat Fire, White Truffle."

The best review I've read is "This is the type of cologne where many people will assume that you are not wearing any cologne but just smell really really good, naturally ;-)

Dirty ol' egg-suckin' dog
I either have truck or don't, whichever is the good one (Mom and I say those eleven words all the time, because we've heard "I got no truck with people who [do a horrible thing]" and "I got no truck with people who [do something relatively innocuous.]" Not sure if truck-having is good or bad. But anyway) with people who put bumperstickers that say "My child is an honor student at Blahdebloo School." If you put them up, that's nice, good for you, good for the kid. If you don't, that's OK, too, I'm sure you have other ways of letting the kid know that academic acheievement is a good thing.

What DOES irritate me are the bumperstickers that say "My [dog breed] is smarter than your honor student." Look, peeps, I'm fine with you saying your pets (or animal companions, if you insist) are like children, there's no reliable way to compare the measure of your love for them vs. a parents' love for their offspring, that's fine.

But, y'know what? Your dog can't do, for example, a PowerPoint presentation on Titian, nor quadratic equations, nor even the generally devalued science project of making a volcano with vinegar and baking soda. Your dog can't even read.

However, by the time my honor student (or any kid of average intelligence and reasonable co-ordination) was three years old, she could've run through your dog's agility trials with minutes, rather than months, of training. By the time she was four, given proper sizing, she could've quite easily beat your dog's time. And by the time she was, oh, five or six, she could've told us by how many seconds she did beat it, because, unlike your dog, she can do math using only the abstraction of numbers. If a dog can undertstand a command to get two balls instead of one, we all ooh and ah. By the time a kid is 18 months old, if she's only counting to two, we want to know what else she's got.

If a dog dials 911, it makes the news. No-one's impressed if a kid does it if the kid is more than two, three years old, because it's not that hard for humans.

Your dog is smarter than a kid only if that kid is an infant. Because humans have such big brains for their size, we don't gestate very long compared to our lifespan, so our infants take a few months on the outside to catch up to where puppies and even other baby primates are within a few days. But by the time kids are toddling, they've caught up. By the time they're honor students, they are simply smarter than your dog, even if your dog is a border collie.

Your bumper sticker shows less logic than that usually exercised by my honor student.

As for "My kid beat up your honor student" bumperstickers, congratulations. You must be SO proud. Maybe your kid will have wonderful opportunities as a henchman for some big brained criminal. Oh, wait, this is reality. I didn't mean "congratulations," I meant "You fail, thanks so bloody much for passing on that fail to another generation!"

Rockin' and a rollin', splishin' and a splashin'
Mostly for the newly graduated (History Degree from Mills, baby!)

miss_mimsy, but many of you will find it amusing: Drunk History. People drink, describe an historical event, and actors act it out as described.

Why do these words sound so nasty?
I figured it out! People (including the governor of Nevada) are afraid of gay marriage because happiness is a zero sum game.

If gay couples get married, they'll steal all the happiness from "opposite marriage," as the lovely and oh-so-buxom Carrie Prejean so intelligently called it.

C'monnnn, think of all the marriages that have already failed; it's because they're not evenly distributing the happiness!

Instead of all marriages being kinda okayish, those damn selfish happy people are taking more than their share, and that makes others fail.

And now them homersexuals want to be happy, too?
Nuh-uh, no way!

But (somewhat) seriously, folks, this week, we passed by a protest on the steps of Alameda's City Hall. Evidently, the Alameda Unified School district is teaching sodomy. No, I'm serious, the sign said so. Two large, professionally printed, block-lettered signs: One THIS WAY TO HELL (with an arrow pointing at City Hall, held up by someone in a really dreadful lycra-spandex devil costume.) The other one said
DO YOU WANT YOUR
CHILDREN TO LEARN ABOUT
SODOMY
THEN WHY ARE THEY TEACHING
IT IN THE SCHOOLS

No explanation if it was Theoretical Sodomy or Practical Sodomy. (Conversational Sodomy? The History of Sodomy?)

I was disappointed in the appearance the counter-protesters; one really tacky hand-lettered (in rainbow colors) sign that said "Gay families are awesome!" (you had to get close to read it; you could read the anti-Sodomy messages from a block away.).

Forgive me for stereotyping, but aren't gays supposed to be REALLY good at displays? Huh, I guess if you're allowed to marry and raise families, you become like everyone else; mostly kinda boring, with your youthful flair subverted to meetings and grocery shopping. I'll bet anything that the markers belonged to one of their kids!

I wanted to ask the leader of the Christian Warrior Congregation (seriously, that's what their literature said) why he didn't have a beard, since Leviticus is obviously awfully important to his moral code, and which homosexual stylist had picked out his faaaabulous shirt, but I had the kiddo with me and a very articulate lipstick-lesbian mom was telling him that no-one was forcing him to be gay, which would be just as ridiculous as forcing her to be straight.

And I enjoyed the dad who asked the Devil if he wanted to dance. "What, aren't you like, supposed to be seducing us with your lies and lust? C'mon, let's do a devil dance! Devil dance! Devil dance!" Not sexual or rude, just silly, like trying to jolly a toddler out of a bad mood.

If you're gonna play the devil, you need to commit, dude. Their devil seemed more slightly irritated than evil.

The Colbert Report's parody of the NOM "Gathering Storm" ad. (Yes, the National Organization for Marriage is "nomnomnom!")

Auditions for the NOM PSA (Video at the bottom of the page; actual auditions begin at about 1:05.)

What I want is a proper cuppa coffee
I discovered the secret to making a better, richer brew today; while the water from your Brita-filtered faucets is filtering into the container of your groovy carafeless pot, carefully measure out just the right amount of Kona, preferably freshly ground (I don't own a grinder, but it's only been a couple of days since I ground these at the store.) into your filter. I like it strong, so I grind it fine somewhere between Drip and Espresso.

Pour the water into the heating part, put the container into it's proper spot in the coffee-maker, and, this part is very important, BEFORE you close the lid and turn on the coffee maker, PUT THE GROUND COFFEE IN THE FILTER.

That way, you get coffee instead of a cup of hot water. Coffee is much tastier, and FAR more caffeinated.

Yeah, I may be developing a caffeine jones. I don't know how junkies manage; it's a lot more work getting heroin into your veins.

We know the game and were gonna play it
First, an experiment that can't be done using modern technology. If you play the 33^1/3 album version of Bruce Springsteen's "I'm on Fire" at 45, you get Dolly Parton. And the song fits her well.

I'm NOT Rick Rolling you, because I am warning you, there will be Astley if you click. But it is combined with something else, something none of us knew would still be such a part of the public conciousness nealy two decades after its inception. None of us admitted it, but lots of us loved it (and you can do Scottish Country Dancing to it.). And it combines with Mr. Astley's best-loved (or at least best-known) white-boy soul effort to create a certain kind of brilliance.

You know you want to click.