Originally uploaded by emaggie.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Maya approaching the Beach, with her sunny California disposition in full bloom
Originally uploaded by emaggie.
Maya and Dad size up the biggest Great White we've ever seen. Or maybe just a gross jellyfish carcass and some kelp.
I don't know which was scarier - the terrible shots I took of myself and Maya or the way she chose not to act on cue. All those acting classes seem now to have not been the greatest investment.
When Crawford's booked, I suggest Santa Barbara
Surprisingly like Dubya and his beloved Bushies in August, we're away from foggy San Francisco for the only occassionally foggy comfort of Santa Barbara on our own version of a "working vacation." Dubya takes 5 weeks. We're taking part of 5 days. The similarities end there. No brush clearing here. No beach time there. I don't expect that Dubya's running with Jenna and Barbara comfortably ensconsed in a double-wide BOB stroller like I've had the chance to share along the Waterfront the past three mornings with Maya in our beloved single Revolution. And here we discuss policy and politics. Such as Dubya's unwillingness to meet Cindy Sheehan and Sludge's willingness to trash this woman who's son was killed in Iraq. Or the importance of teaching creationism, er, pseudo-science, er, intelligent dumbsign as a way to counteract the allegedly corrosive edjumacationism of that dastardly evolutionary theory bunk. Maybe the lesson herein is that no matter where we fall on the political spectrum, our society should encourage everyone to head off and break the cycle for a while when the weather turns summery. Like the French or the Italians or, gawd save us, the Liechtensteinians or Liechish or Liechtenaniacs (whatever they're called - I respect you fully). Hopefully most Americans still get some degree of escape to regroup before the weather turns autumnal, the harvest comes in and we all take a new look at our nation's school systems as classes commence. But if it helps you rest at all easier knowing that I'm just one of the minions of folks paying undue attention to the stories of our time, waiting for the next Novak freakout or the next policy absurdity to arise, I hope I help you enjoy your rejuvenation. Granted, I'm just one voice in the global static. Speaking of which, pay attention to future updates for links to my podcast under development that I want to launch this fall. I'm thinking of calling it "Don't Let Harvey's Wallbangers Raise Your Kids" or "This Week in Shlock." Whatever I settle on for a tagline, I hope you'll give my offerings a listen. That means you - Al Gore. I'm one of the few hundred people checking out CurrentTV. I expect some love in return.
To switch gears, I'd like to offer a brief review of "Hustle and Flow" which Sarah and I saw yesterday after weeks and weeks of saying that we wanted to do so. I've read all the hype since its signing at Sundance this year. And I'm pleased to say that it deserves almost all of the praise that it's received. My rating - a somewhat rare but entirely deserved B+. Terrence Howard is a revelation. He could pimp my hos anytime. So to speak. And the remaining principle cast is masterfully cast and without a clunker in the mix. The rap is inspiring. The storyline is perfectly toned. The portrayal of urban decay in Memphis may be hard for some to stomach. But as Sarah said while we walked to our car, you never really see urban stories set in the South. It works brilliantly in this storyline. Craig Brewster (writer/director) deserves mad praise and I'm sure we'll see much more of this artist in the future. "Whoop that trick!" If you haven't seen it, get there and you'll know what I mean thereafter.
We're planning to take Maya to the Beach for the first time a bit later today. Expect some pics soon thereafter. Thanks for reading. Rock on.
To switch gears, I'd like to offer a brief review of "Hustle and Flow" which Sarah and I saw yesterday after weeks and weeks of saying that we wanted to do so. I've read all the hype since its signing at Sundance this year. And I'm pleased to say that it deserves almost all of the praise that it's received. My rating - a somewhat rare but entirely deserved B+. Terrence Howard is a revelation. He could pimp my hos anytime. So to speak. And the remaining principle cast is masterfully cast and without a clunker in the mix. The rap is inspiring. The storyline is perfectly toned. The portrayal of urban decay in Memphis may be hard for some to stomach. But as Sarah said while we walked to our car, you never really see urban stories set in the South. It works brilliantly in this storyline. Craig Brewster (writer/director) deserves mad praise and I'm sure we'll see much more of this artist in the future. "Whoop that trick!" If you haven't seen it, get there and you'll know what I mean thereafter.
We're planning to take Maya to the Beach for the first time a bit later today. Expect some pics soon thereafter. Thanks for reading. Rock on.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
Maya reacts to the day's news - "Tasty!"
Yesterday we headed down to Santa Barbara for another long summer weekend. In the car on our way, Maya got ahold of part of my newspaper, as she's now tempted to do whenever it's within reach. She may be reading the Business section in this shot. But she's all about the Robert Novak meltdown story. Rock on.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Novak Is Mad As Hell, And He's Not Gonna Take It Anymore!!!!!!
Oh. My. Gawd. Bob Novak went off the reservation today on CNN's "Inside Politics." Nothing of note has happened on that show since, well, ever. Yet I've always TiVo'ed it as a sort of Dean Campaign carry-over (we had a bank of the puppies pulling down every day's politically-themed piece of televised detritus). And today it paid off. Before Sarah headed in for an overnight call "we" watched it together (translation: I watched it while she tried to read or something equally productive). The conversation between James Carville and Novak was uninsightful, as always. Ed Henry, the surprisingly effective reporter serving as a rotating temp host as CNN tries to figure out who best might fill Judy Woodruff's recently emptied lightweight and impossibly uninteresting shoes, got things going after the third break (ugh!) with a question about Katherine Harris's makeup controversy (or complete lack thereof). Carville played G-rated "Crossfire" with Novak. And Big Bad Bob lost his shit. Completely. Blogs from sea to shining sea are burning up their servers playing with this one (thanks to everyone for allowing me to piggyback my linking for free). The Washington Post has gone early with the news that CNN has asked Novak to "take some time off." No word yet from Crawford from the assembled gaggle where it's assumed Dubya's mountain-biking through a "working session" to scout new brush to clear.
Still (and HERE'S THE RUB) Judy Miller sits in her prison overalls, waiting for Patrick Fitzgerald to finish up his investigation of who besides Rove and Libby leaked Valerie Plame-Wilson's name in an egregious and UNQUESTIONABLY illegal act of political hackery. I hope Novak's phone is ringing off the hook tonight. Because his meltdown was the funniest bit of impromptu theatre I've seen in decades. Rock on.
Still (and HERE'S THE RUB) Judy Miller sits in her prison overalls, waiting for Patrick Fitzgerald to finish up his investigation of who besides Rove and Libby leaked Valerie Plame-Wilson's name in an egregious and UNQUESTIONABLY illegal act of political hackery. I hope Novak's phone is ringing off the hook tonight. Because his meltdown was the funniest bit of impromptu theatre I've seen in decades. Rock on.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Monday, August 01, 2005
A Friendly Plea the Day After the SF Marathon
Until last week, Maya was always a super pooper, in the most literal use of the term. Yet I'm learning more and more every day to expect twists and turns in parenting a newborn. Luckily, we took one of those turns headed in a good direction this morning when woke up to a happy baby with a full diaper after a few days' worth of rice cereal constipation. Maya's done great thus far with the "solid" food. Until this morning though, she'd not done so great with the "solids" on the other end of the spectrum. I'm maybe overstating the extent of her intestinal back-up, but if you'd smelled some of yesterday's toxic plumes you would have been worried as well. So after spending a few days anxiously interpreting every fart and red-faced grimace, we can now get back to our regularly scheduled lives. I'm sure that's what the teenage Maya would have rather I'd done without going so fully into the past paragraph.
Yet as life now returns to normal with the poopgates once again open, I'd like to switch gears entirely and make a friendly plea to anyone reading on behalf of 826 Valencia and the expanding group of 826s popping up all over the country. If you're not familiar with what 826 means or does, I'll get back to that a bit later in this posting. But the pivot point for bringing this up was the running of the San Francisco Marathon yesterday, of which I ran the first half in hopes of bringing some attention in a very small sense to the work of the 826s. But as far as the Race went, the course through the City was advertised as being in itself inspiring. For those of you that can picture the layout of the City - Start down by the Ferry Building, run along the Waterfront past the Marina to Golden Gate Bridge, cross and come back over the Bridge, continue along the Sea Cliff side of the Presidio and down toward Golden Gate Park. The first half ended in the Park, but the full marathon folks continued on to eventually go down Haight Street, through the Mission and back toward Mission Bay to return to the Start/Finish in front of the Ferry Building. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? Except that for reasons only assumed to do with not screwing up pre-7am traffic (composed of priests, ravers and newspaper delivery people), the Start began at 5am, which meant myself and 15,000 or so other maniacs rolled out of bed around 3am. Because of poor public transportation planning on my part, I ended up needing to drive downtown. I drove through the Tenderloin, noting the darkly-dressed denizens wandering about in a form of wobbly unison. Only a few blocks further toward Union Square, the streetwalkers morphed into little pockets of overly perky runners jauntily carrying their Starbucks cups and plastic bags full of gel packs and water bottles. Most were wearing brightly colored race clothing, the occasional plastic garbage bag to keep off the misty fog, and mostly brand-new shoes. I'll leave it up to you to decide who looks more deranged walking the sketchy downtown streets at 4:15.
I parked, got stretched amid the swirling mass of humanity along the Embarcadero, and eventually got onto the Course around 5:30 when just the first hint of daylight began to rise over the East Bay. As we made our way past Fisherman's Wharf and along Marina Green, the sun came up. Somewhere. But in San Francisco, the extra light only allowed a better view of how completely fogged in the Bay was. What was meant to be the visual highlight - crossing the Golden Gate Bridge - was underwhelming. You couldn't even see the Towers of the Bridge through the tepid soup as you crossed under them. It felt more like I was running through a movie set in 19th Century London than toward Marin. Coming back across the Bridge, the wind hit me with a startlingly icy surge that went straight to my colon. Those are the moments that make any sane person wonder quietly, "just why the #*&! am I doing this?" With years of self-control under my belt, I kept it together and eventually made it through to Golden Gate Park and the finish. Nowhere near a stunning time - 2:12. But I finished with no injuries and had plenty to ponder along the way of what was a largely enjoyable jaunt.
Certain vignettes always stick in my mind beyond the few hours of shared effort with thousands of strangers, such as how you begin to look for and fixate on certain faceless folks in the midst of the pack. I even named a few. There was the Thong Lady - a very saucy stripper-type woman wearing white hot pants and an easily discernible dark thong underneath. I don't know about you, but the thought of running any distance more than a few blocks in a thong ain't my idea of a fun run. And then there was Hairy Neck - a totally fit 40ish man with an immaculately shaved head atop the hairest neck and shoulders this side of "BJ and The Bear." I kept thinking that if he so obviously took the time to shave his head, why not add a few strokes and loose the thicket sticking out of your tank top? But then again, I suppose you will always have the question of where to stop the tapering and you might end up losing complete control somewhere mid-chest. See, these are the thoughts that keep you going through a long run. And then there's the chatty folks that are always lurking amidst the sane folks around you. As with most situations, the weather is the easiest avenue for chafeless bonding. My favorite of this class of runner was a guy I named Big Tex 'cause he was maybe 5' tall (wearing lifts), but fit as a freaky-four-foot fiddle and sportin' the twangiest Texas lilt in the field. His ice-breaker with me was "Y'all got some weather out here." I believe my response was somewhere in the neighborhood of "yes, we do." From there it only got more compelling, as I'm sure you can guess.
Much more importantly, races like this one are both outright and incidentally inspiring. Folks with drive - both in terms of their physical and philanthropic endeavors - were everywhere in the field yesterday. And as with many marathons, the San Francisco Marathon increasingly offers non-profits and charitable organizations the organized chance to fundraise based on the efforts of the runners. Since I've done work with 826 Valencia and I could think of no other organization whose mission I agree with more, I hooked up with the handful of other staff and volunteers from 826 that formed a "Booty Team" - meant to remind people of the Pirate Store aesthetics of 826 Valencia, not the other obvious use of the name. 826 Valencia started here in San Francisco a few years ago with the mission of helping kids improve their writing while offering a wide-array of tutoring and creatively expansive activities. The environment that has been created at 826 Valencia is so impressive that an expansion is underway to like-minded cities around the country (NYC and LA are open, Chicago, Seattle and Ann Arbor are in the process of doing so). But as with any worthy cause, 826 relies on the generosity of people, whether in terms of time or donations. In that light, I ask that if you can help them and see the poetry in what is going on in the 826s, please go to my website for donating through the SF Marathon. Or let me know if you'd prefer an emailed form for you to fill out and mail with a donation to 826. As with all such organizations, they will reply with their utmost appreciation and the documentation you need for tax-deductible filing. If you have ANY questions about any of this please let me know.
So yesterday's run is done and I'm feeling inspired for what's next. I'll be prepping to do a full marathon in the nearish future, I'll be continuing to work with 826 in the Fall, and there's lots else on the plate for the weeks and months ahead. Thanks for reading. You're the reason I do this, after all.
Yet as life now returns to normal with the poopgates once again open, I'd like to switch gears entirely and make a friendly plea to anyone reading on behalf of 826 Valencia and the expanding group of 826s popping up all over the country. If you're not familiar with what 826 means or does, I'll get back to that a bit later in this posting. But the pivot point for bringing this up was the running of the San Francisco Marathon yesterday, of which I ran the first half in hopes of bringing some attention in a very small sense to the work of the 826s. But as far as the Race went, the course through the City was advertised as being in itself inspiring. For those of you that can picture the layout of the City - Start down by the Ferry Building, run along the Waterfront past the Marina to Golden Gate Bridge, cross and come back over the Bridge, continue along the Sea Cliff side of the Presidio and down toward Golden Gate Park. The first half ended in the Park, but the full marathon folks continued on to eventually go down Haight Street, through the Mission and back toward Mission Bay to return to the Start/Finish in front of the Ferry Building. Sounds lovely, doesn't it? Except that for reasons only assumed to do with not screwing up pre-7am traffic (composed of priests, ravers and newspaper delivery people), the Start began at 5am, which meant myself and 15,000 or so other maniacs rolled out of bed around 3am. Because of poor public transportation planning on my part, I ended up needing to drive downtown. I drove through the Tenderloin, noting the darkly-dressed denizens wandering about in a form of wobbly unison. Only a few blocks further toward Union Square, the streetwalkers morphed into little pockets of overly perky runners jauntily carrying their Starbucks cups and plastic bags full of gel packs and water bottles. Most were wearing brightly colored race clothing, the occasional plastic garbage bag to keep off the misty fog, and mostly brand-new shoes. I'll leave it up to you to decide who looks more deranged walking the sketchy downtown streets at 4:15.
I parked, got stretched amid the swirling mass of humanity along the Embarcadero, and eventually got onto the Course around 5:30 when just the first hint of daylight began to rise over the East Bay. As we made our way past Fisherman's Wharf and along Marina Green, the sun came up. Somewhere. But in San Francisco, the extra light only allowed a better view of how completely fogged in the Bay was. What was meant to be the visual highlight - crossing the Golden Gate Bridge - was underwhelming. You couldn't even see the Towers of the Bridge through the tepid soup as you crossed under them. It felt more like I was running through a movie set in 19th Century London than toward Marin. Coming back across the Bridge, the wind hit me with a startlingly icy surge that went straight to my colon. Those are the moments that make any sane person wonder quietly, "just why the #*&! am I doing this?" With years of self-control under my belt, I kept it together and eventually made it through to Golden Gate Park and the finish. Nowhere near a stunning time - 2:12. But I finished with no injuries and had plenty to ponder along the way of what was a largely enjoyable jaunt.
Certain vignettes always stick in my mind beyond the few hours of shared effort with thousands of strangers, such as how you begin to look for and fixate on certain faceless folks in the midst of the pack. I even named a few. There was the Thong Lady - a very saucy stripper-type woman wearing white hot pants and an easily discernible dark thong underneath. I don't know about you, but the thought of running any distance more than a few blocks in a thong ain't my idea of a fun run. And then there was Hairy Neck - a totally fit 40ish man with an immaculately shaved head atop the hairest neck and shoulders this side of "BJ and The Bear." I kept thinking that if he so obviously took the time to shave his head, why not add a few strokes and loose the thicket sticking out of your tank top? But then again, I suppose you will always have the question of where to stop the tapering and you might end up losing complete control somewhere mid-chest. See, these are the thoughts that keep you going through a long run. And then there's the chatty folks that are always lurking amidst the sane folks around you. As with most situations, the weather is the easiest avenue for chafeless bonding. My favorite of this class of runner was a guy I named Big Tex 'cause he was maybe 5' tall (wearing lifts), but fit as a freaky-four-foot fiddle and sportin' the twangiest Texas lilt in the field. His ice-breaker with me was "Y'all got some weather out here." I believe my response was somewhere in the neighborhood of "yes, we do." From there it only got more compelling, as I'm sure you can guess.
Much more importantly, races like this one are both outright and incidentally inspiring. Folks with drive - both in terms of their physical and philanthropic endeavors - were everywhere in the field yesterday. And as with many marathons, the San Francisco Marathon increasingly offers non-profits and charitable organizations the organized chance to fundraise based on the efforts of the runners. Since I've done work with 826 Valencia and I could think of no other organization whose mission I agree with more, I hooked up with the handful of other staff and volunteers from 826 that formed a "Booty Team" - meant to remind people of the Pirate Store aesthetics of 826 Valencia, not the other obvious use of the name. 826 Valencia started here in San Francisco a few years ago with the mission of helping kids improve their writing while offering a wide-array of tutoring and creatively expansive activities. The environment that has been created at 826 Valencia is so impressive that an expansion is underway to like-minded cities around the country (NYC and LA are open, Chicago, Seattle and Ann Arbor are in the process of doing so). But as with any worthy cause, 826 relies on the generosity of people, whether in terms of time or donations. In that light, I ask that if you can help them and see the poetry in what is going on in the 826s, please go to my website for donating through the SF Marathon. Or let me know if you'd prefer an emailed form for you to fill out and mail with a donation to 826. As with all such organizations, they will reply with their utmost appreciation and the documentation you need for tax-deductible filing. If you have ANY questions about any of this please let me know.
So yesterday's run is done and I'm feeling inspired for what's next. I'll be prepping to do a full marathon in the nearish future, I'll be continuing to work with 826 in the Fall, and there's lots else on the plate for the weeks and months ahead. Thanks for reading. You're the reason I do this, after all.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Five Months Flew By Fabulously (and Fast)
Maya turns 5-months old today. Let's assess where she's at, since I've not updated some of her most avid fans as of late. She's eating her first solid food as of this week - rice cereal, which is the soupiest "solid" imaginable, but she seems to like it. Her sleeping is exceptional, but our pediatrician advised that we not mention how comfortably she's sleeping through the night or going down without complaint for naps to other parents that may be more frustrated by their own child's sleep habits. So I won't mention it. She's able to get both feet in her mouth, sometimes simultaneously. She still seems entirely happy riding her BOB stroller through the Park, probably due to the fact that San Francisco's still foggy and cool while the rest of the country sounds as though they're about ready to burst into flames. And her Mommy and Daddy are entirely satisfied with the experience of parenthood thus far. The warranty's up, so I guess were all stuck with each other. Which is a very good thing.
We got our camera back from Sony, still broken and slated for retirement 'cause the warranty doesn't cover the repairs needed and the cost of doing so through the manufacturer would be more than what a newer, fancier camera will cost. Lamer than lame. We're still using Nanna and Poppy's, but I'm less always-at-the-ready with that one. So I'm pricing new cameras and should have something new within the week, after which time the number of image postings should increase once again.
Tomorrow's my last day guest hosting the blog Whatever while it's owner preps for the release of his new sci-fi book. The audience there hasn't exactly wet themselves with gleeful appreciation of my musings nor have I taken to that pond of discussion like a friendly duck. My posting from last week focused on a moment in the life of James Doohan (Scotty from "Star Trek") on the day after his death. I may try to go out with a sub-referential bang tomorrow, so please check it out. Regardless, my primary attention to and the Family Buick will return in earnest thereafter.
I've running the SF half-marathon on Sunday. I'd meant to be much more enthusiastic about both my training and my desire to raise money for 826 Valencia in the course of doing so. But I plan to enjoy the run and promote my support and admiration for what goes on with the expanding universe of 826s around the country (currently in SF, NYC, LA and coming soon to Seattle, Chicago and Ann Arbor). Check back for my shtick on that course of action. Rock on.
We got our camera back from Sony, still broken and slated for retirement 'cause the warranty doesn't cover the repairs needed and the cost of doing so through the manufacturer would be more than what a newer, fancier camera will cost. Lamer than lame. We're still using Nanna and Poppy's, but I'm less always-at-the-ready with that one. So I'm pricing new cameras and should have something new within the week, after which time the number of image postings should increase once again.
Tomorrow's my last day guest hosting the blog Whatever while it's owner preps for the release of his new sci-fi book. The audience there hasn't exactly wet themselves with gleeful appreciation of my musings nor have I taken to that pond of discussion like a friendly duck. My posting from last week focused on a moment in the life of James Doohan (Scotty from "Star Trek") on the day after his death. I may try to go out with a sub-referential bang tomorrow, so please check it out. Regardless, my primary attention to and the Family Buick will return in earnest thereafter.
I've running the SF half-marathon on Sunday. I'd meant to be much more enthusiastic about both my training and my desire to raise money for 826 Valencia in the course of doing so. But I plan to enjoy the run and promote my support and admiration for what goes on with the expanding universe of 826s around the country (currently in SF, NYC, LA and coming soon to Seattle, Chicago and Ann Arbor). Check back for my shtick on that course of action. Rock on.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Thursday, July 21, 2005
John Roberts - Where have we seen you before?
Anyone seen "Airplane" lately? Animation courtesy of this feller.
From the Hall of Fame of Unintended Ironies
Hard to beat this silly picture from June 2003 at a dinner to celebrate Bob "Douchebag for Liberty" Novak's 40th anniversary as a columnist. Rove's button says (and this is the absolute truth) "I am a Source, not a Target." 'Nuff said.
Monday, July 18, 2005
See y'all at the Reception!
Fabulous, fabulous getaway thus far here in Santa Barbara. I've not put up anything in the way of adorable pics (of which there are many) or insightful commentary (of which there is much less), but you can rest assured that the goods are a comin'. The fly in the ointment is that out of the huge bundle of cords and AC adapters we brought along, I once again forgot that one most important link for all of Maya's fans - the USB connection from the camera to the computer. I got one at Radio Shack yesterday, but given that the minimum wage distracted youthful geeks working at da Shack couldn't point me toward the right sized cord (and that I didn't bring the camera with me) I of course ended up with the wrong sized one. Admist our travels today I'll do the exchange and put up some photos. Promise.
To step back a smidge and do the tale of the tape from our Friday pediatrician visit - once again everything looks "stupendous" for Maya. Her specs currently are:
Height: 2 feet and a 1/2 inch
Weight: 14 lbs., 9 oz.
Hat Size: 42cm
All of her growth curve, percentile measures, yada yada yada, are looking spot on. She got another bevy of shots followed by the 5+ hour ride in the carseat down to Santa Barbara, so at times she was as pissed off as a pissed on cat. But Maya settled down quickly and has been a charmer ever since. We brought her along to dinner out at the always delicious Via Vai last night, during which she filled another epic diaper to the pleasure of the entire table (the obvious joke was that Italian food always does it to her). And today we're prepping to try her first first when it comes to solid food - rice cereal. Yummy. The time has come - she grabs for food whenever she sees it in front of her and our pediatrician said that 4-6 months is the target timeframe. So we'll cover ourselves in plastic and give it a shot. Check back to see how it went.
For anyone that watched Matt Cooper yesterday on "Meet the Press" - I'm looking forward to the uptick of pressure on BOTH Rove and Scooter Libby (Cheney's Chief of Staff) this week after being outed as Cooper's sources. This story isn't going away. Well, at least until the Bushies put up a Supreme Court nominee. At which point no one will give even a wet diaper about the whole fandango.
As a delightful diversion yesterday afternoon, we all headed to a matinee while Nanna watched Maya. No art house fans in the summer Sunday mix of this crowd - we chose "Wedding Crashers". Vince Vaughn's a wreck no matter how much make-up you pancake on his melon. Owen Wilson's well-lit and perfectly-timed throughout, but I've always liked him and his whole family. The cast of players surrounding the Boyz otherwise squeeze their underwritten roles to the hilt to surely satisfying degrees. An over-the-top uncredited cameo from Will Ferrell should wash the bad taste of "Bewitched" from the handful of mouths that have bothered to see it. And when the rapid-fire shtick is firing, it's as funny as any truly R-rated goofer since...well, in quite a while. My rating - a solid B. My sincere recommendation. But as an aside, I suggest that those getting married or attending weddings this summer be very much on the lookout for second-class, copy-cat attempts at such tomfoolery. I give my highest guarantee that we'll see much of that. Gawd knows I'm gonna give it a shot with my best friend, Pauly Shore.
To step back a smidge and do the tale of the tape from our Friday pediatrician visit - once again everything looks "stupendous" for Maya. Her specs currently are:
Height: 2 feet and a 1/2 inch
Weight: 14 lbs., 9 oz.
Hat Size: 42cm
All of her growth curve, percentile measures, yada yada yada, are looking spot on. She got another bevy of shots followed by the 5+ hour ride in the carseat down to Santa Barbara, so at times she was as pissed off as a pissed on cat. But Maya settled down quickly and has been a charmer ever since. We brought her along to dinner out at the always delicious Via Vai last night, during which she filled another epic diaper to the pleasure of the entire table (the obvious joke was that Italian food always does it to her). And today we're prepping to try her first first when it comes to solid food - rice cereal. Yummy. The time has come - she grabs for food whenever she sees it in front of her and our pediatrician said that 4-6 months is the target timeframe. So we'll cover ourselves in plastic and give it a shot. Check back to see how it went.
For anyone that watched Matt Cooper yesterday on "Meet the Press" - I'm looking forward to the uptick of pressure on BOTH Rove and Scooter Libby (Cheney's Chief of Staff) this week after being outed as Cooper's sources. This story isn't going away. Well, at least until the Bushies put up a Supreme Court nominee. At which point no one will give even a wet diaper about the whole fandango.
As a delightful diversion yesterday afternoon, we all headed to a matinee while Nanna watched Maya. No art house fans in the summer Sunday mix of this crowd - we chose "Wedding Crashers". Vince Vaughn's a wreck no matter how much make-up you pancake on his melon. Owen Wilson's well-lit and perfectly-timed throughout, but I've always liked him and his whole family. The cast of players surrounding the Boyz otherwise squeeze their underwritten roles to the hilt to surely satisfying degrees. An over-the-top uncredited cameo from Will Ferrell should wash the bad taste of "Bewitched" from the handful of mouths that have bothered to see it. And when the rapid-fire shtick is firing, it's as funny as any truly R-rated goofer since...well, in quite a while. My rating - a solid B. My sincere recommendation. But as an aside, I suggest that those getting married or attending weddings this summer be very much on the lookout for second-class, copy-cat attempts at such tomfoolery. I give my highest guarantee that we'll see much of that. Gawd knows I'm gonna give it a shot with my best friend, Pauly Shore.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Friday Roadtrip!
As a matter of self-indulgent full-disclosure, today's my birthday and I'm blocking out the news of the day. Mostly. And we're road trippin' down to Santa Barbara for Maya's first to the family compound now that Nanna and Poppy are back on this Coast. Expect plenty of pics, especially showcasing Maya at the beach and meeting her Great Grandmother for the first time. Prior to heading out of town, we've got a standard check-up with Maya's pediatrician to assess all the benchmarks and see who's weightgain bet is most correct (I've pegged 15 lb, 2 oz. as my tale of the tape). Get your own bets in early. And have a rockin' Friday.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Nap time ROCKS!
Contrary to her prior approach to such midday diversions, Maya's being quite the happy lit'l napper over the last few days. Two nice naps yesterday and she's playing around with her second stretch today, as well. So even though I'm a bit behind on today's news chompin' and I pessimistcally expect screams for relief from Maya via the monitor in a matter of minutes, I'll use a few stolen moments to for personal catharsis.
First of all, I'm apparently not impressing the geeks over at Whatever, where I guest-hosted for the second Thursday earlier this morning. I'm just not rattling their dorky chains all that well, I'm afraid. And I even worked a Star Trek reference into the first sentence of this morning's post. Serves me right for trying to change my colors - for anyone that's seen me in a Speedo, it's obvious that I'm a jock.
Rove's getting silly support from Dubya and most of what's being written doesn't kick the can down the road much at all. But I must believe that the DC Press corps worm has turned, even if ever so slightly. Hell, even the Wall Street Journal's posted a poll where Dubya's "liar" rating has jumped up to 45%. Those are Nixon numbers, people. And the summer's only getting hotter on an already sweaty East Coast.
If you didn't see Jon Stewart elegantly and humorously carve Bernard "I'm the REAL Bias" Goldberg a new one on last night's Daily Show, wait for it to appear on their web site. And then WATCH IT. Dead center debunking of a seriously flawed argument from the seriously unwatchable Goldberg.
Still waiting for our Sony camera to be fixed and returned. We'll surely be posting much from this upcoming weekend while down in Santa Barbara, regardless. Please check back. Maya's stirring. Must run. Rock on.
First of all, I'm apparently not impressing the geeks over at Whatever, where I guest-hosted for the second Thursday earlier this morning. I'm just not rattling their dorky chains all that well, I'm afraid. And I even worked a Star Trek reference into the first sentence of this morning's post. Serves me right for trying to change my colors - for anyone that's seen me in a Speedo, it's obvious that I'm a jock.
Rove's getting silly support from Dubya and most of what's being written doesn't kick the can down the road much at all. But I must believe that the DC Press corps worm has turned, even if ever so slightly. Hell, even the Wall Street Journal's posted a poll where Dubya's "liar" rating has jumped up to 45%. Those are Nixon numbers, people. And the summer's only getting hotter on an already sweaty East Coast.
If you didn't see Jon Stewart elegantly and humorously carve Bernard "I'm the REAL Bias" Goldberg a new one on last night's Daily Show, wait for it to appear on their web site. And then WATCH IT. Dead center debunking of a seriously flawed argument from the seriously unwatchable Goldberg.
Still waiting for our Sony camera to be fixed and returned. We'll surely be posting much from this upcoming weekend while down in Santa Barbara, regardless. Please check back. Maya's stirring. Must run. Rock on.
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Monday, July 11, 2005
Dennis and Karl - who's more the Menace?
Another Maya threshold was crossed on Friday night - she slept for 12 hours straight. Her napping skills are improving, too. Or, more accurately, we've learned to begin enforcing a schedule for said sleepy times. This week after a scheduled pediatrician visit on Friday we're heading out for Maya's first roadtrip down to Santa Barbara for a long weekend. Until then, no big plans. Except to get better acquainted with our smokin' hot new Apple PowerBook laptop. We've made the turn away from the Wintel darkside. And I don't see us going back. Among other things, this sweet techie ride will allow us to begin editing and distributing some of the video we've been recording as of late, such as Maya's first "music video" shot on Friday while playing with the program "Garage Band." I know, I know - sounds pretty cheesy. But bear with us and I think some of you might be entertained by what we put up in the future.
Karl Rove's outing is now in full-throated spin thanks to the Newsweek story that is being linked to incessantly throughout the blogosphere and advanced by the majors. His defense via his lawyer is now entirely evident - Rove claims to have talked with Matt Cooper but to have never "named" Valerie Plame, at least "knowingly." For those of you with a memory, I hope you know what the "meaning of is is" now. It is this - cover your butt at all times, especially when knowingly breaking the law in the interest of political expediency. Rove's such a punk even Ashton Kutcher wouldn't hang out with him.
As Hurricane Dennis gets downgraded, I must simply hope for the best for everyone in that part of the country while noticing some ugly sidenotes to this seasonal story. First, this is shaping up to be the ugliest stormy season in recorded history. And it's only early July. The Bushies that dispute the impact of human activity on climate change, PLEASE take note. Secondly, the fact that the energy markets are kept on a razor's edge with such an event even though crude oil prices are already at over $60/barrel should scare all of us. The justification of the market's fixation on this hurricane was noted as one of possibly threatened facilities (storage and refineries along the Gulf Coast). Regardless, we're SOOOO screwed when it comes to energy policy these days. And for all you Bushies, there's no way that initiating exploration in ANWR or elsewhere is gonna get us out from under these ever-present concerns within the decade. Get used to walkin', people. You may be needing to do a whole lot more of it a whole lot sooner than anyone has planned for.
Since the London attacks last Thursday, very little has been released about the coordination and control of the bombings even though this aspect of our so-called "War on Terror" has been constantly lauded as the one area in which we're seeing actual results. Given that London has more security cameras than anyplace in the world and that they fought the IRA for decades, I'm left feeling even more skeptical about how well-prepared we here in the US are for such events. Secretary Chertoff wants to reassure us that we're prepped for copy-cat attacks - to my recollection, al Queda has never done so and why should we be reassured when we hear about disproportionately spent Homeland Security moolah ($18B on aviation, $250M on rail and transit systems) meant to prevent such attacks in the first place? Dubya uses the opportunity to dust off the same BS and deliver it to yet another (seemingly) friendly audience as he did at the FBI headquarters this morning. Let's face it people - we're being sold a false bill of goods. If London can get hit during Blair's big moment with the G8 meeting just getting underway and the most intense security in the world (hopefully) focused on the prevention of a major attack, how are we supposed to feel good about how we're "making progress" in Dubya's asinine assessment? The only progress I see being made is in the way we've bolstered the armies of doubters out there that (as Dubya ridiculously yet redundantly opined this morning) this past atrocity in London was "an attack on the civilized world and the civilized world is united in its resolve. We will not yield, we will defend our freedom." Leading to the question for Dubya - just who is the "we" anymore? In my mind, "we" are screwed by false leadership and empty rhetoric. "We" are seeing the well-timed attacks of a still-resourceful enemy that is kicking our collective freedom-loving ass. "We" haven't prevented shit. And if "we" will not yield, "we" will see many more of the sorts of days "we" saw in London on Thursday. "We" need to get serious. "We" need to protest the policies of this Administration. "We" are running out of options. "We" can't continue to believe that what "we" are being told is in any way based in reality. "We" need to react. And "we" will not take this boilerplate bunk anymore than "we" would delay in protesting the purchase of a lousy car, cantelope or DVD. "We" should be much angrier than "we" currently are. But "we" are getting there.
Sorry - needed to rant for a moment. I need a run in the Park. I think "we" all do. Rock on.
Karl Rove's outing is now in full-throated spin thanks to the Newsweek story that is being linked to incessantly throughout the blogosphere and advanced by the majors. His defense via his lawyer is now entirely evident - Rove claims to have talked with Matt Cooper but to have never "named" Valerie Plame, at least "knowingly." For those of you with a memory, I hope you know what the "meaning of is is" now. It is this - cover your butt at all times, especially when knowingly breaking the law in the interest of political expediency. Rove's such a punk even Ashton Kutcher wouldn't hang out with him.
As Hurricane Dennis gets downgraded, I must simply hope for the best for everyone in that part of the country while noticing some ugly sidenotes to this seasonal story. First, this is shaping up to be the ugliest stormy season in recorded history. And it's only early July. The Bushies that dispute the impact of human activity on climate change, PLEASE take note. Secondly, the fact that the energy markets are kept on a razor's edge with such an event even though crude oil prices are already at over $60/barrel should scare all of us. The justification of the market's fixation on this hurricane was noted as one of possibly threatened facilities (storage and refineries along the Gulf Coast). Regardless, we're SOOOO screwed when it comes to energy policy these days. And for all you Bushies, there's no way that initiating exploration in ANWR or elsewhere is gonna get us out from under these ever-present concerns within the decade. Get used to walkin', people. You may be needing to do a whole lot more of it a whole lot sooner than anyone has planned for.
Since the London attacks last Thursday, very little has been released about the coordination and control of the bombings even though this aspect of our so-called "War on Terror" has been constantly lauded as the one area in which we're seeing actual results. Given that London has more security cameras than anyplace in the world and that they fought the IRA for decades, I'm left feeling even more skeptical about how well-prepared we here in the US are for such events. Secretary Chertoff wants to reassure us that we're prepped for copy-cat attacks - to my recollection, al Queda has never done so and why should we be reassured when we hear about disproportionately spent Homeland Security moolah ($18B on aviation, $250M on rail and transit systems) meant to prevent such attacks in the first place? Dubya uses the opportunity to dust off the same BS and deliver it to yet another (seemingly) friendly audience as he did at the FBI headquarters this morning. Let's face it people - we're being sold a false bill of goods. If London can get hit during Blair's big moment with the G8 meeting just getting underway and the most intense security in the world (hopefully) focused on the prevention of a major attack, how are we supposed to feel good about how we're "making progress" in Dubya's asinine assessment? The only progress I see being made is in the way we've bolstered the armies of doubters out there that (as Dubya ridiculously yet redundantly opined this morning) this past atrocity in London was "an attack on the civilized world and the civilized world is united in its resolve. We will not yield, we will defend our freedom." Leading to the question for Dubya - just who is the "we" anymore? In my mind, "we" are screwed by false leadership and empty rhetoric. "We" are seeing the well-timed attacks of a still-resourceful enemy that is kicking our collective freedom-loving ass. "We" haven't prevented shit. And if "we" will not yield, "we" will see many more of the sorts of days "we" saw in London on Thursday. "We" need to get serious. "We" need to protest the policies of this Administration. "We" are running out of options. "We" can't continue to believe that what "we" are being told is in any way based in reality. "We" need to react. And "we" will not take this boilerplate bunk anymore than "we" would delay in protesting the purchase of a lousy car, cantelope or DVD. "We" should be much angrier than "we" currently are. But "we" are getting there.
Sorry - needed to rant for a moment. I need a run in the Park. I think "we" all do. Rock on.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Friday, July 08, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
London calling...
Everyone's focused on this morning's attack in London - myself included. I just posted my first entry on the writers' site "Whatever" that I'm guest hosting on Thursdays this month and it focuses on what I've seen since I woke up at 5am West Coast time. Please check it out. I'll get more up both there and here later. Nevertheless, I hope everyone makes it through today smelling Spring-meadow fresh and extra fruity.
Oh, just to not lose that extra fruity lead-in - we watched Morgan Spurlock's documentary series "30 Days" on FX last night for the first time. Compellingly well-done television (an oft-used oxymoron, but in this case applicable). Last night's episode featured a 24-year-old homophobe from Oxford, MI who moved to San Francisco's Castro neighborhood for a month to live with an articulate, admirable gay man. The straight man (Ryan) was completely reluctant to listen to his own logic, but the gay man (Ed) and the surrounding community of gay men and women gave him the chance to learn something. If you liked Spurlock's documentary "Super Size Me" on McDonald's, you'll LOVE this series. My highest recommendation. Rock on.
Oh, just to not lose that extra fruity lead-in - we watched Morgan Spurlock's documentary series "30 Days" on FX last night for the first time. Compellingly well-done television (an oft-used oxymoron, but in this case applicable). Last night's episode featured a 24-year-old homophobe from Oxford, MI who moved to San Francisco's Castro neighborhood for a month to live with an articulate, admirable gay man. The straight man (Ryan) was completely reluctant to listen to his own logic, but the gay man (Ed) and the surrounding community of gay men and women gave him the chance to learn something. If you liked Spurlock's documentary "Super Size Me" on McDonald's, you'll LOVE this series. My highest recommendation. Rock on.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
These "abs" are all mine. And they're spectacular.
Maya's vocal gymnastics have bounded to a new level of both volume and frequency. Shutting her up after a morning run and a bottle doesn't seem possible on days like today. So I've started videotaping her actions and hilarious gibberish once again (hoping to post some clips soon). And now that she seems distracted by being propped up in her bouncy chair to do some speedbag work on the hanging plastic rattle-bobbles, I'll do my best to work off a few calories with rapid-fire shots at some stories of the day.
The Rove-as-Plame-leaker story via Lawrence O'Donnell at the Huffington Post has yet to gain real traction, but he makes some good points today. Thanks to Rove's lawyer we now have a new standard in parsed legalese - “never knowingly disclosed classified information.” For those that appreciate maintaining plausible deniability, Rove's a frickin' man to worship. Will the stonewall hold? I'd bet against it. But I'm always wrong, so I'll just keep paying attention for the time being.
Fred Thompson's returning to yet another DC role - this time as Dubya's Supreme Court "search" faceplate. Hey, it's no "Iron Eagle III" or "Curly Sue" but work's work.
Halliburton's apparently still in bidness. Doin' pretty well, to boot. Another $5B for Iraq contracts, even after all the fraud and corruption. My bet is that they've got some friends somewhere in the government.
Poor Maria Carey's getting flack for painting on her ab six-pack. I'd suggest she'd also painted on even more boobs, but that would be juvenile and seemingly impossible.
Maya's raising holy hell - duty (or possibly doodie) calls. Time for more of these sorts of important updates will arise later. Hopefully. Rock on.
The Rove-as-Plame-leaker story via Lawrence O'Donnell at the Huffington Post has yet to gain real traction, but he makes some good points today. Thanks to Rove's lawyer we now have a new standard in parsed legalese - “never knowingly disclosed classified information.” For those that appreciate maintaining plausible deniability, Rove's a frickin' man to worship. Will the stonewall hold? I'd bet against it. But I'm always wrong, so I'll just keep paying attention for the time being.
Fred Thompson's returning to yet another DC role - this time as Dubya's Supreme Court "search" faceplate. Hey, it's no "Iron Eagle III" or "Curly Sue" but work's work.
Halliburton's apparently still in bidness. Doin' pretty well, to boot. Another $5B for Iraq contracts, even after all the fraud and corruption. My bet is that they've got some friends somewhere in the government.
Poor Maria Carey's getting flack for painting on her ab six-pack. I'd suggest she'd also painted on even more boobs, but that would be juvenile and seemingly impossible.
Maya's raising holy hell - duty (or possibly doodie) calls. Time for more of these sorts of important updates will arise later. Hopefully. Rock on.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
A Supreme shake-up in the cards?
A very subdued yet successful holiday weekend on our end - hope the same can be said of your side of the national parade route. Maya's sleeping like a champ (11-hour stretches each of the last two nights) and we survived a full 24-hour at the hospital call day on Sarah's part with lots of walking and tummy time and Wimbledon via TiVo. I'm very happy for Venus Williams and I respect Roger Federer's complete game. But Andy Roddick's got the best press presence since John McEnroe, so I hope he gets more moments in the full-blown media glare in years to come. Maya's helping out around the house more lately, which for a 4-month old means she's conking out for a few naps that allow us to get through the occasional pile of bills or newspapers. Generally not in that order. Speaking of which, a few stories from this morning's mix really caught my eye.
The Pentagon's apparently considering a major shift in their preparedness. Up until now (believe it or not) our military was supposedly operating with a basic planning structure that would allow them to fight two simultaneous wars. Cause just fighting one's for pussies. Well, now that Iraq has turned into the incredibly messy shit sandwich that most of us know it to be, Rummy and his chums are planning to drop that whole "two wars if we're really in a pinch" silliness. The underlying drive stems from Rummy's oft-articulated master plan to up the technological ante on our fighting forces and create in the process a much leaner operative capability. Ya know - more smart bombs, less dumb soldiers - that sorta thang. But it actually makes a lot of sense when you can't get people to enlist and have a Congress that will seemingly rubber-stamp just about any military appropriations bill that Dubya sends up the Hill. It doesn't make an iota of sense at any other time, but for now - what me worry?
For those of you that just can't get enough political journalism the Washington Post Sunday Magazine ran the sort of extensive profile piece on Howard Dean that if you closed your eyes and skipped the first section you'd swear was written at the height of his quixotic run for the nomination. Very strong background on Ho-Ho. Very much what has always been run about him (lousy dresser, blunt, Judith's a smarter doc, yada yada yada). But it still was a very fair piece to counter all the attack flack aimed at him since he became DNC Chair. Well worth a looksie.
For anyone who wonders where all the fuss about the departure of Sandra Day O'Connor from Supreme Court comes from, just take a gander at the cases that they've slated to hear starting with the beginning of the session on October 3rd. Abortion, right-to-die, gay rights - all the heavy hitters on the cultural war footing are represented. My early prediction is complete and total stalemate for whomever Bush picks. O'Connor stays on into the next session. Rehnquist dies. Thomas gets hit by a street sweeper, wakes up with amnesia and disappears to the Deep South to search for his roots. Scalia comes out of the closet and quits the Court to open a B&B in Provincetown, MA. Karl Rove runs out of palatable ideas after the first Senate stalemate and loses his will to win. Convinces Bush to nominate Judge Judy, plus Simon, Paula and the other guy from "American Idol" to fill the slots. The Senate capitulates. The American public's attention shifts to the next celebrity trial - my bet is on Vince Vaughn killing a hooker within the next few months. And this whole period seems like a bad dream from far, far in the past.
It could happen. Look it up. Rock on.
The Pentagon's apparently considering a major shift in their preparedness. Up until now (believe it or not) our military was supposedly operating with a basic planning structure that would allow them to fight two simultaneous wars. Cause just fighting one's for pussies. Well, now that Iraq has turned into the incredibly messy shit sandwich that most of us know it to be, Rummy and his chums are planning to drop that whole "two wars if we're really in a pinch" silliness. The underlying drive stems from Rummy's oft-articulated master plan to up the technological ante on our fighting forces and create in the process a much leaner operative capability. Ya know - more smart bombs, less dumb soldiers - that sorta thang. But it actually makes a lot of sense when you can't get people to enlist and have a Congress that will seemingly rubber-stamp just about any military appropriations bill that Dubya sends up the Hill. It doesn't make an iota of sense at any other time, but for now - what me worry?
For those of you that just can't get enough political journalism the Washington Post Sunday Magazine ran the sort of extensive profile piece on Howard Dean that if you closed your eyes and skipped the first section you'd swear was written at the height of his quixotic run for the nomination. Very strong background on Ho-Ho. Very much what has always been run about him (lousy dresser, blunt, Judith's a smarter doc, yada yada yada). But it still was a very fair piece to counter all the attack flack aimed at him since he became DNC Chair. Well worth a looksie.
For anyone who wonders where all the fuss about the departure of Sandra Day O'Connor from Supreme Court comes from, just take a gander at the cases that they've slated to hear starting with the beginning of the session on October 3rd. Abortion, right-to-die, gay rights - all the heavy hitters on the cultural war footing are represented. My early prediction is complete and total stalemate for whomever Bush picks. O'Connor stays on into the next session. Rehnquist dies. Thomas gets hit by a street sweeper, wakes up with amnesia and disappears to the Deep South to search for his roots. Scalia comes out of the closet and quits the Court to open a B&B in Provincetown, MA. Karl Rove runs out of palatable ideas after the first Senate stalemate and loses his will to win. Convinces Bush to nominate Judge Judy, plus Simon, Paula and the other guy from "American Idol" to fill the slots. The Senate capitulates. The American public's attention shifts to the next celebrity trial - my bet is on Vince Vaughn killing a hooker within the next few months. And this whole period seems like a bad dream from far, far in the past.
It could happen. Look it up. Rock on.
Monday, July 04, 2005
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Rove - "Thy name is My Bitch!"
Every single blogger in the known universe is required today by law to reference the following story of epic just-desserts about to be served:
Karl Rove is surprisingly NOT Deep Throat. But he's hopefully worried about that moniker being applied to him in his eventual Federal residence once the Plame investigation plays out.
Time to focus on issues that have absolutely nothing to do with such greasy and overdue matters of State. Enjoy your holidazed weekends.
Karl Rove is surprisingly NOT Deep Throat. But he's hopefully worried about that moniker being applied to him in his eventual Federal residence once the Plame investigation plays out.
Time to focus on issues that have absolutely nothing to do with such greasy and overdue matters of State. Enjoy your holidazed weekends.
Friday, July 01, 2005
And so the Battle begins...
Sandra Day O'Connor announces her retirement. All of DC is running madly through the streets. Radical activists on both ends of the spectrum bursting into flames across the nation. Hug your children and lock up your pets. Oh, and have a marvy Independence Day weekend. Rock on.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
