for james franklin wheeler Why did you leave?
Lebanon, Pennsylvania
A stud in your tongue
I can see on the tape.

Everybody’s free to feel good.
I fell asleep in math class, too.
I cry when I watch The Simpsons.
The part in your hair looks like mine.

I’ve read a letter your mother wrote
for people like us, wanting to die.
But I only just now realized
that it was your story.

I see your father cry,
say, “Don’t hurt my son.”
They wanted to save you.
Kanji for ‘hope’ was marked on your back.

Now I have a son.
What will he feel?
Will I ever ask him,
“Why did you leave?”

furthermore (TMI) Does anyone know of a PC or Palm app that you can use to track your cycle? I guess I really should go back to the doctor. It'd be nice to have a few months of information in a handy format instead of bizarre scribbles on my calendar recording the, uh, aspects of each day in a legend I can't even remember. K., do you know of something like this?

at the risk of providing TMI My lady parts are totally fakakta. Just trust me on this one. Or maybe I should say my endocrine system is fakakta. Sigh. I hate to ramble on about this topic, but I'm going to think out loud here and just say that I wish I had a good regular doctor, the kind who gets curious and orders a hormone panel when a patient, say, menstruates for an entire month. A person can really get sad when that sort of thing happens. It's a laundry nightmare, and I kind of worry about getting anemic or something. I feel as if I ought to go to Threadgill's and eat a big old plate of liver.

When I had my first blog back in the Cretaceous Period, it disgusted people that I'd mention what my cycle was doing. And I can understand that. I'll say "TMI" in the subject header. But I can't not mention it. It's like having a big red elephant in your pants. A person might mention that.

(sniff) I'm farting around instead of writing up the DVD edition of Ararat. Anyhow, the actor who plays Raffi reminded me a lot of E. I miss y'all Portlanders.

this just in K., who is road-tripping to Vegas, says she passed an adopt-a-highway sponsored by the "Clowns of Enchantment." That's rad.

I was window-shopping at lush.com and got foiled by baby allergens at every turn. Eggs. Peanut oil. Banana. Avocado. Hey, why not make a shampoo bar fortified with all-natural cat dander? Mainly I'm kidding (?) but it did surprise me that their lotions still have peanut oil in them. Is that a Canadian thing? Good thing they have universal health care for when you go into anaphlaxis in the shower.

I keep forgetting today is Monday.

santa monica mud

The Big A

Venice Beach

cowabunga

tasty waves

big corona

no corporate donuts

Hello, Los Angeles!

someday Somebody my son is going to be mortified when I remind him that he used to run around the house wearing my panties on his head when he was a toddler. I can't keep that kid out of my laundry.

what is there to say except LANCE.

my spidey senses are tingling So we finally watched Spiderman last night. It came out when I was in postpartum heck and we're too cheap to pay full price for a new release rental. Now I can't stop imagining the various kinky applications of wall-crawling and webs with the tensile strength of a suspension bridge. I mean, you could live a really long time and never run out of new ideas.

Tobey Maguire has an awesome butt chin.

I should be working. I have three assignments this week. I guess I'm warming up.

aGLIFF is coming up. This time of year we get schmacked with one festival after another.

and I forgot to mention I can't believe how badly I'm procrastinating today.

We had a milestone today. B. refused to let me put pants on him today. "No!" he said, and he ran and hid behind his chair, laughing. Oh, dude. I don't really care if he wears pants or not; I'd certainly prefer to be without them. But our deal is that we can't go out without our pants. Since we weren't going anywhere, I didn't press the issue.

Right on! I love this essay, which came to me courtesy of Gib.

J. and I got engaged in a diner and walked on the beach to celebrate. I did the asking since I got the idea first. No engagement ring. That shit is wack. "Spend a bazillion dollars on a diamond you can't even afford, and you'll get ass for the rest of your life!" I don't think so.

Be a good friend, a thoughtful partner, and a committed parent (if you go in for kids or animals), and you'll get ass for the rest of your life.

You wouldn't believe all the shit we got. "Then you're not really engaged!!" Oh yeah? We've been together nine years. All those people can blow it out their butts.

hello, canada? So much for being able to choose your doctor in the good old USA. I'd love to become a regular patient of the doctor who diagnosed my hepatitis at urgent care after two other people somehow missed it, despite the fact that I was sprawled on the floor with a giant distended abdomen and a 103-degree fever. And I can...for only $922 a month! A value at any price, but somehow costlier than my mortgage!

Mom, cover your eyes.

Fuck AMIL HMO.
Fuck AISD.
Fuck George Bush.
Fuck, fuck you all, except for Dr. Barta, whom I really don't blame because AMIL is a piece of shit and they deliberately delay payment to the health care providers who accept them. Thus we've been dropped by no fewer than five doctors in the last two years.

Sorry, kids, but public-school teachers do not earn enough money to pay $922 for their health-care premiums every month. Unfortunately we earn too much to be eligible for CHIP.

You want to know why the single-earner family went the way of the dodo?
Health insurance. Period. There is no simpler, more accurate explanation.

paparazzi

he's not impressed

and I forgot to mention We saw the coolest thing ever in San Diego. (Something cool? In San Diego? You're kidding, right?) Nope.

A Volvo 850 wagon with a flame job. I want one!

paean We love you, Paxil.
J.'s is pink and mine is blue.
You make us happy.

Reason #5623 We're weird parents. I guess you're supposed to decorate your kid's room with a "theme," right? And we don't have one. (I proposed a "biker bar theme," but that didn't fly.) And then we didn't decorate the room at all, really, aside from painting it green (with the help of K., of course) and sticking the furniture in there.

So today we decided to finally hang up some curtains in B's room. J. was drilling holes in the wall and everything was fine until there was a tremendous crash and glass breaking. I thought J. had fallen through the window--kind of like how he fell from the attic through the ceiling in our bedroom when I was 38 weeks pregnant. But nope--something slipped and there was this weird domino effect of stuff crashing along the wall. B's framed print of animals and letters broke. He was apoplectic. "Bunnies? Bunnies? Bunnies?" Then he took a nap.

We are completely incompetent homeowners. We have a broken toilet, a smashed-up kid's room, burned-out lightbulbs in every room, and a serious problem with ants coming in and eating our toothpaste. And after three years here, that horrible Victorian-themed wall border is still in our living room. If I were a Sim, my "room" indicator would be waaay in the red. I might even have a sad clown weeping over me.

this can't be good
You are Cio Cio San from Puccini's "Madama
Butterfly"! You're quiet, unassuming, and conventional. You
don't like to make waves and so you are always
deferential and polite. But don't let yourself
be a doormat--you have needs too!

Which DIVA are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

(whip!) I'm really procrastinating and need to get back to revising my proposal. I have all the enthusiasm of a galley slave right now.

Maybe just *one* more piece of pie first.

I don't think so
Cocaine. You like to talk, you like to run, but most of all you like to have fun.

Which drug should you be hooked on? [now with pictures]
brought to you by Quizilla

Awww...
You represent... hope. You're quite a daydreamer and can be a hopeless
romantic. You enjoy being creative and don't
mind being alone at times. You have goals, and
know what you want in life... even if they are
a little far fetched.

What feeling do you represent?
brought to you by Quizilla

rahr! First things first: If you have a child, if you know a child, if you think you may someday become acquainted with a child, I exhort you to run to Wee Monster, a magnificent WAHM site run by the fabulous Holly. Wee Monster sells kids' T-shirts and snappies with fabulous artwork. I love the surf monkey stuff. All kids' clothing should be this cool.

Something I forgot to mention, though it's been bothering me. I saw no electric cars in L.A., just electric car charging stations, which are on practically every corner. What's that about?

Today's pie was the $2.99 special from HEB--apple. Damn it was good. The crust wash is egg-free, but it does have casein in it (so it's technically not vegan, which doesn't affect me 'cos I eat dairy, but I thought I'd mention it anyway).

Grocery shopping without a baby in the cart is fun.

really?
You are Razor, the Death Rocker! You love old
horror movies and Alien Sex Fiend. Be careful
with that cigarette, your big hair is highly
flammable. Your ultimate goal in life is to
become a zombie.

Where are you on the Gothic Spectrum?
brought to you by Quizilla I don't want to be a zombie. Zombies terrify me. In fact K. and J. and I have a suicide pact in the event that hell becomes full and the dead walk the earth.

my Wesley Willis joyride Just what I always wanted--a Wesley Willis song just for me!

This is courtesy of the magically delicious Zenmadre, who whoops a snow leopard's ass.

Marrit really whoops a camel's ass.
About 72300 people like Marrit.
Marrit is very special to me.
You can really get in the groove.

MARRIT!!!
MARRIT!!!
MARRIT!!!
MARRIT!!!

You make the joyride music.
You are my special badass mother.
You can really get in the groove.
Right on brother.

MARRIT!!!
MARRIT!!!
MARRIT!!!
MARRIT!!!

You are a badass mother star.
You can really jam harder like a magicist.
You really whoop the horse's ass.
I like you a lot in the long run.

Rock over London,
Rock on Chicago.

Pontiac - we build excitement.

change my pitch up... Well, I realized where Baldo learned to say "whoa." Not from Keanu, but from the Richard Cheese version of "Smack My Bitch Up," which I tend to sing absentmindedly as I'm about my business in the house. (Don't worry, Mom--I change the words.)

I'm getting pretty good at changing the words of controversial songs on the fly and having them still be comprehensible. I'm all in favor of artistic freedom and integrity and whatnot, but yes I do bowdlerize stuff for the benefit of Baldo. I think of it as a mental challenge for myself; it kind of makes me feel like "Weird Al" Yankovic or at least Glen Erath.

Speaking of artistic freedom and integrity, I respect that Liz Phair could make an all-kazoo album if she wanted to, but what the hell? She sounds like Hilary Duff now. (And I've seen The Lizzie McGuire Movie so I oughta know.) Anyhow, I swapped my unused nursing pads for her latest album. (Take that, RIAA!)

The Target store in the scary-potato northwest suburban part of town sent me a coupon today for a $.99 8" bakery pie. Evidently they're carrying groceries now. That kind of scares me, but I may not be able to say no to that pie.

We're back Observations and random thoughts from our trip to the Southland, in no particular order:

1. There are no cooked vegetables in southern California, only salads--which presents a problem if you have no molars. No vegetables. None.
2. There is traffic in Los Angeles twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Sunday morning at 5:15? Traffic. Freeway? Traffic. Surface street? Traffic.
3. The San Fernando Valley is a billion degrees. It's hotter than Texas. It's hot like the surface of Mercury. And that "It's a dry heat" thing is horseshit. There's no shade, only California Pizza Kitchens and car dealerships. We went to the playground and I thought I was going to pass out.
4. I ate pie at Du-Par's and Norm's. I love Norm's.
5. I nursed at Venice Beach (discreetly, because people kept coming over to touch my hair and stuff), at the Big A, at the beaches in Corona and Encinitas, at Balboa Park, at Noise Noise Noise, at the Scripps Aquarium, on the Balboa Peninsula pier, and in the DGA building during a meeting with the Film Foundation.
6. I saw Michael Apted's parking space and seriously considered photographing it.
7. When we were picking up our car I peeked at a rental agreement that had Tony Goldwyn's home address on it.
8. We saw Richard Hatch biking through Venice. We were not unduly impressed. Though he is pretty fit for a portly reality TV dude.
9. We spent an hour driving up and down Wilshire in search of "you know, that restaurant from Less Than Zero" only to discover that whatever it was, it's now a Sizzler.
10. We didn't stay in Santa Monica long enough to get run over by that elderly fellow.
11. The disc jockeys at KROQ are afflicted with a form of Tourette's that causes them to say "The White Stripes" every seven-and-a-half minutes.
12. I am in love with Mike Halloran's new radio station. If you know anything about the San Diego radio market, you know it's dominated by Clear Channel, which skirts FCC regulations by broadcasting from both sides of the US-Mexico border. And you know that Halloran has been bouncing from one struggling independent station to another for God knows how long. Bless that man. All the same I find it regrettable that the disc jockeys are afflicted with a form of Tourette's that causes them to play Soundgarden every hour.
13. I surprised myself by having all these fond feelings for San Diego even though leaving was like escaping from Precinct Thirteen after a mammoth gun battle.
14. I will concede that California has better burritos, but we kick y'all's asses up and down the block when it comes to tacos, even fish and shrimp tacos.
15. My son loves the ocean and toddles off into it without fear.
16. We all went to Big Corona, the beach in OC where J. and I went wading after we decided to get married. We dunked our firstborn child in the waves. It was beautiful.
17. I saw this exhibit at the Museum of Man. It was really interesting, but I got stuck behind these chuckleheads who were all like, "Whoa, that's gonna leave a mark!" Idiots. I do recall that San Diego has a rather high chucklehead quotient.
18. I still really like the used section at Lou's. I think the same chuckleheads are selling back perfectly good CDs that would remain in the collections of non-chucklehead people. To wit, there was a disc of Junior Varsity Bam Bam Bam in the shelves, but the guy behind the counter couldn't find the disc (chucklehead?). He gave me $1 off the stuff I bought.
19. California needs Luby's.
20. People are afraid of large, organized groups of mothers and children. I mean terrified, diving-out-of-the-way scared. They don't understand why mothers and children would get together in a public place en masse instead of staying at home. I had to explain our conference over and over again and I still don't think people got it. It's not weird for groups of, I dunno, elderly people to get together. Why not children and their parents?
21. I like California in a way but the extremes of wealth are incredibly depressing. I love the 1950s architecture of old L.A. Then you turn a corner into Santa Monica and it's one twee stucco-facaded Barnes & Noble after another and the public park across the street is full of homeless people. I mean full. A small cardboard box would rent for $1000 a month.
22. Los Angeles needs left-turn arrows. Hello? You can't make a left-turn anywhere.
23. I became so desperate for Internet access that I actually used the $47,891-a-minute terminal in the hotel. Sometimes you have to decide between bringing the laptop and bringing the toddler.
24. B. learned several words. One is "Whoa," which is side-splittingly funny. The other is "no." We are SO in for it.

the last big score This is probably my last update before we go on vacation. I've packed half a suitcase, and I'm already tired.

here's a word I forgot Water. B. says "water." Put him in the bathtub, and he starts pointing like crazy: "Water. Water. Water. Water. Water."

this is for you, jim
You are Axl Rose. You are the original bad boy.
Rules? Pfff - what the hell are those? Rules
are made to keep losers in line! You are much
to bad to follow rules. You are also
chronically late for any and every function -
work, school, concerts, etc. You joke that
you'll be late to your own funeral (get it,
late? hee hee) You are too cool to be bothered
with anything so trivial as time, you run on
Axl time and all that know you either have to
accept or "Why don't you just F#@k
off!!!" You have your own style that is
uniquely you - you look cool wearing anything
from leather pants to kilts. You are very
spiritual, contemplative, and reflective. You
try to pour all of your emotions into your
writing or other artistic endeavors, but
occassionally you let your temper loose on
others. But you don't mean to be such a bad
boy, you act out as a result of an unhappy or
abusive childhood. And besides, you really like
being lewd, rude and tattoed!

What 80's Butt Rocker Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla Um, I was reeeally going for Rikki Rocket here. I am *never* late.

mr. melon! It's still raining at Nipplewood, and the natives are restless.

I am trying to not get a cold. The Baldacious One is cutting about seven teeth. I wish I were exaggerating. I see bumps on the canines and the last two incisors.

I am antsy antsy antsy. I finished my book proposal and am waiting for proofreading before I send it off to some agencies. I wanted to get this under way before we left for vakay. Now I'm not sure. I don't want to do a half-assed job just so I can say it's done.

We had some visits lined up yesterday and everything fell through. I did manage to get back to the salon to get my hair cleaned up. This way I can be in all the photo albums with a new pink microcut. I like it but it's not two-tone anymore, which was kind of special. I ended up reading GQ under the dryer. It was different. All the writers relate to women in terms of their shagability; the men, in terms of their manicures. There was an article about some Mormon fundamentalist convicted of killing his niece and sister-in-law because God told him to, and the writer spent a lot of time talking about the guy's hair.

There's still an assload of melon.

B. is a rambunctious little sprite today. His latest thing is to jump up off the changing pad, diaperless, run behind our recliner, and pee. Laughing. Laughing. He always goes in the same spot, so maybe we could put newspapers there and have him paper-trained? Between the other B. and his book about the potty, he may be gathering that going in one's diapers is not the thing to do (?). Who knows? He surprises me with the things he's ready for, and when I think he's ready for something, he balks. These kids today.

Yesterday B. laughed at everything we said. Chicken? A laugh. Wallpaper? A laugh. The Archimedes Principle? Big laugh. Misdirected urination and all, toddlerhood beats the crap out of infancy. At least our infancy.

Realized one of the "words" B. has been saying for a long time is "baby." It doesn't sound like "baby," so perhaps I can be forgiven for my incomprehension. So that's: baby, open, bye-bye, mama, daddy, doggie, ow, bug, nurny...I know I'm forgetting some...and a new one, "dot." My "dot" is my nostril piercing, which B. pokes. (This never hurts except when I have a zit there, which I always seem to in the summertime. Yuck.)

After breakfast today B. walked right over to the stereo, cranked up the White Stripes, and began doing his dance across the floor. I'd love to get a video of B.'s dance. (Unfortunately he's very conscious of the camera--so no luck yet.) The ambulatory aspect of it makes me certain I've influenced him with the colic shuffle.

We'll now return to our regularly scheduled waiting.

you're the first, the last, my everything I'm really sad about Barry White. People, please do not underestimate the importance of a healthy liver.

i speak geek

You are 27% geek

You are a geek liaison, which means you go both ways. You can hang out with normal people or you can hang out with geeks which means you often have geeks as friends and/or have a job where you have to mediate between geeks and normal people. This is an important role and one of which you should be proud. In fact, you can make a good deal of money as a translator. Normal: Tell our geek we need him to work this weekend. You [to Geek]: We need more than that, Scotty. You'll have to stay until you can squeeze more outta them engines! Geek [to You]: I'm givin' her all she's got, Captain, but we need more dilithium crystals! You [to Normal]: He wants to know if he gets overtime.

Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com

Though you actually make shit money as a geek translator, IIRC.

oi g'vault A whole bunch of stuff started happening at once.

Good day to Tropical Storm Bill, which has brought steamy Amazonian rain.

A big WTF? to Dr. S, who threw me for a loop yesterday by recommending the Landmark Forum. A. called from Seattle to discourage this; she's been to a session and was like, "No. Don't go. Get out. It's a cult." And I am *so* not about even the smallest part of it, like the part where they keep you in a room for twelve hours and deprive you of sleep and don't let you pee. I am a lactator. I pee when I want, I sleep when the baby sleeps (except when I'm blogging), and I'll kick your ass to Oklahoma City if you get between me and a pie. But I will say that talking with Cranky about it mellowed me out a little. I can appreciate if people need something this stringent in their lives or if it's helpful to them. But not me. No. Nyet. Nein.

B. said "spaghetti" this morning. It was more a collection of the right inflection and syllables, but it was hilarious anyway. He has a book with a picture of spaghetti in it.

Yesterday we went to play with Z., a baby a few days younger than B., and his mama, who's an ass-kicking rocker chica from Boston. I really like her but I can't refer to her much because her name also starts with J. What is it with that? I know too many Js. Anyway, thanks to Bill we were unable to swim.

We will reattempt swimming today with T. and her small ones. The forecast calls for showers throughout the afternoon, though. We'll have to see.

I am going to interview Ariel Gore in LA. That is, provided I can get our butts out there. With a carseat. A camera. A tripod. A mike. And everything else. Including the baby. All his medications. His forty-seven different tubes of emollients. Screeeeee! I'm losing it already.

I sent a query off about an essay on Monday night. Cross your fingers, everybody.

That morning I saw a neat little caper movie, The Hard Word. It was very efficient and polished and well-acted. I keep finding myself thinking about the offbeat relationship between the thieves, who are three brothers. I really liked it.

How hilarious is a baby in a muscle shirt? Very. My sweet buddy Hellcat sent us some baby togs along with some shoes that weren't her size. Sssshhh...they're from a very questionable retailer. Word to the wise: If you do buy something there, they just might send you the wrong size shoes and refuse to take them back. Pretty sucky.