Who Here Likes Crazy?

Aw, man. Yesterday I realized that it's November (yeah. hi.), and I completely forgot that I'd been planning to do NaNoWriMo for the entire preceding ten months. I hate when I do that.

Oh my god. I am so excited.

Y'ALL!

San Antonio.

I'm officially home. I have numerous memories of wandering around the River Walk and the Tea Garden and various other landmarks here, going back to the early eighties, when my little sister and I toddled endlessly in my mother's shadow. I'm in the hotel where I took my infant son swimming for the first time in 2002. If I look down from my window, onto the River Walk, I see the multi-colored twinkle of lights reflecting off the water... the same lights which infused all of my prior visits to San Antonio with the merriment of holidays. I remember just after I met my first (and foremost) love in 1998, after he went back to Georgia with a kiss and a promise to return permanently, I walked all night along the river and stood before the Alamo, shivering happily in a pink sundress and oblivious to the muted conversation of my family members. I only knew that everything was perfect. The evening was cool and humid, the stars living up to their "big and bright" reputation, and the night breeze carried both the sounds of distant laugher and the competing scents of myriad restaurants. Not a lot appears, at first glance, to have changed.

Today's drive was brutal in duration, spanning well over twelve hours. We're all sore and stiff, but the ride itself was mostly pleasant. Some memorable sights:

--The sunrise, just before a storm in Arizona. Right over a mesa, miles from the highway, a break in the clouds allowed beams of sunlight to reach through and create a golden crown for the horizon. Beautiful, and I hoped a good omen for the beginning of our day.

--The wide blue sky of West Texas, dotted with giant white sails and the occasional enormous Lone Star flag. When I was a kid, the sight of the flag was so ubiquitous, I was surprised at the way it affected me today. It really is kind of beautiful, large and waving, silly in its arrogance and yet retaining a strength, a splendor, and a dignity in spite of the fact. If only I didn't know too well what kind of stubborn idiocy is often behind it.

--Near Kent, Texas, flat in the middle of nowhere... just scrub and highway and giant sky... we noticed the ruins of a stone building off the highway. I asked Steve to turn around and we back-tracked to explore it. There were no other buildings anywhere around, but atop a tall hill directly to the South was a large wooden cross. Upon closer inspection, we could make out an engraving over the doorway to the building. "KENT PUBLIC SCHOOL." As happens to most abandoned (shells of) buildings, the public school is now the nocturnal boozing haunt. There was the requisite graffiti and broken glass everywhere. Everett and I noticed a hole in the back which indicated some type of underground room, so we followed the back of the building to a staircase and descended. We found what must have been a boiler room and evidence that the Kent Public School burned down. The ceiling showed evidence of being thoroughly charred. I wonder how old it is. I wonder if anyone was hurt.

I'm exhaused. We're off to Houston in the morning to visit my family's restaurant and hear the usual admonishments for living so far away. Man, I love my family. My six year old son asked me earlier what I was doing, and I told him I was writing in my journal. He picked up the hotel notepad and told me he was going to make his own journal. Now he's asleep beside me, the paper on his chest. Here's what it says, exactly, with translation following:

"Bake hrts
at a mareot
have a
have my famley
I fele happy."

(Back hurts, At a Marriott [hee], Have my family, I feel happy.)

He's a much better writer than I am. Much more concise.

Sweet dreams!

It's 12:32 am in Tucson at a familiar motel near the airport. After spending all last night packing and cramming the last of my work project, I slept two hours before getting on the road for Day One, the initial desert leg. I wasn't really tired, and aside from one bit of dusty rainstorm, the drive was nice and uneventful. The idea is to sleep a few hours and then set off for Day Two, which consists of TWELVE straight driving hours. We leave at 4:30 AM, but I'm wide awake. This isn't good. At least I have two other drivers, I guess. Hard for me to let someone else take the wheel. I'm paranoid about sleeping in cars sometimes.

The shuffle on my iPod today seems to know what's going on. So many memories, so many ghosts whispering into my hair. They've followed me into the motel room. They all want attention. They won't let me sleep.

I'm excited. I'm afraid. I'm ready to shake hands with the past. I want to find terra firma in the places where I shook the most. These West Coast earthquakes are nothing.

I didn't really want to leave the South. I never longed for the Pacific. Ultimately, I won't look a gift horse in the mouth; I needed to leave, needed new digs, and California opened her arms. Oh my god, I'm lucky. I often doubt I'll never really leave such a beautiful place, such true friends and like minds. But something on a soul level, my birth right maybe, stays East. And when I pay attention to that call, there's a bittersweet acceptance of the fact. As corny as this is, it's making me cry to think about it right now.

Yeah, I found a lot of misery in my twenties. Those of you, maybe most of you, who don't know the whole story might roll your eyes, but I've watched my own Atlanta burn more than once. But the only segments of my timeline during which I found true happiness, that joy that only knows the present and blindly imagines a perfect future... that girl I was when I most loved being me... the people who knew me, the places I lived, the jobs I had, the jokes I told-- that's the South. That's where I'm going.

I saw a person on my friends list lamenting a loss of some part of herself. She seemed to wonder if the edges had dulled permanently or if there was just a temporary numbness. I feel dulled a bit. I can't complain. I'm pretty content. Life is pretty good. But I don't laugh so hard that my stomach hurts, I don't jump up from my chair to call my friends with good ideas. I don't love and admire anyone with that sense of rapture, that challenge to rise to the occasion and splendor. I'm writing bad poetry in effort to feel the wonderful poetry that WAS.

I'm going to see my friends. The friends who know. The friends who love and forgive and remember. How is it possible that this soothes, elates, AND terrifies me? Where have I gone?

And you-- you. I loved you so much and so well. My memory is too good. It was good during the time we were together, calling to mind over and over your indiscretions and duplicity, and that kept trouble at hand. I wanted so badly to trust you. When I look back, I know you loved me, too. I remember that part well enough that I can't convince myself in a fury of self-pity that you never really cared. In your way, whatever that is, I know you did. I was there. I documented it in so many ways, and in the middle of sleepless nights, I wonder where it went. How did you kill something that strong? What is in you that was stronger and more secret?

I'm going to see our places. Painted with the brush of our stupid, beautiful expectations of forever. The places I gave you, the places you gave me, that felt more real once shared. What is going to happen when I look, alone, at the things we both saw? They say time heals. That's true, and so also, in a crazy way, does the pain you inflicted. That same hurt made it easier to stifle hope of reconciliation or regret at the loss of us. But time and pain apparently do not also erase. I don't want to, but I miss you. I didn't study the map of your soul to wander some other path. I hate that you and I carry each other's stories and feelings and pieces of our lives in boxes marked "Not Applicable." I didn't want to throw your treasures away; I didn't want you to throw out mine. I wish I didn't. I really do. But I miss you.

I miss so many people, so many things. Including myself.

We sat in my room late last night, watching the film. A scene played out wherein Marketa Irglova's character repeatedly asked Glen Hansard if she could ride his bike, he resisted several times, and the next shot is of her happily astride the bike.

Everett quipped, "Hey, I think I know that girl." He and Steve both turned to look at me, grinning. I dove, guilty, before they could throw pillows at me, and we all laughed.

Thank God for the moments that remind me I'm happy to be alive.

And for the movies. And the songs.

Holy carp! That was the biggest earthquake I've felt since I moved to California.

This time, it lasted a good seven to ten seconds (which is longer than it sounds, when it's happening) and felt like the house actually kind of rolled... like, you could feel the ground swell for a sec. Awesome! (now that it's over, anyway.) Or as my son used to say: "Scare-wee!"

Looks like it happened somewhere near Pomona. Damn.

The ones in San Francisco just felt like a good shake or vibration.

My Belissa character has gotten a lot more response than I imagined, and it's blowing me away. Some of what I'm seeing disgusts, worries, and depresses me... but I knew I was kind of inviting a lot of those responses, so it would be disingenuous to be scandalized.

I didn't set out to perform some kind of social experiment, but I do tend to analyze things, particularly if I think something is being said about our society, sexuality, or views about women. I really just thought the exaggeration that is Belissa was kind of funny. I've known Belissa. I can be Belissa, when I'm not thinking. (Heh. I meant... whatever.) I think I have some vague idea about what it is that creates Belissa.

Anyway, the point was absurdity. It was silliness. I've had some questions posed, though, and I thought I'd share my thoughts. Feel free to disagree, roll your eyes, or tut: but if that's the case, do argue. I'm open to thoughts on this. These are some of the issues I spend a lot of time, outside of Belissa, worrying about.

---

After a lot of encouragement, the first negative response I got to the Belissa videos came from someone I barely know, on MySpace. He said I was running the joke into the ground and that it was annoying. (Not a view I can't understand, but I was surprised he felt strongly enough to message me about it. Couldn't he just stop looking? I figured there were plenty of people who didn't get the joke or find it funny who were just ignoring me. Which is fine. I liked that some people DID find it amusing, as I did.) I pressed him for an explanation, and he said:

I felt bad you criticized dumb people, or someone who was dumb (real or imginary). I am on your blog list... Up till "Belissa" (the first one was pretty funny) your blogs were pretty open hearted. Maybe sometimes I am someones else's "Belissa".

So obviously I don't want to make anyone feel bad. My first response was guilt, immediately overcome by a defensive, "What?! It's a joke!" I thought about it for a while. Was I being mean? I didn't intend to. Obviously, there are some qualities about people (often women) I'm satirizing because I don't like what they mean, but I didn't feel any specific animosity. I replied:

"I'm sorry you felt like I was being mean. Belissa is an exaggeration of things that are in me, too, after all. I like shoes and shopping and pretty pink stuff; Belissa is obsessed with (her weird idea of) fashion and self-identifies through her more shallow pursuits. Sometimes I feel dumb and inarticulate; don't we all? I hope a lot of people laugh WITH me at this, because there's a general acknowledgment that I'm partially making fun of myself along with some of these other traits. After all... it's ME. Belissa wears my clothes, lives in my house, etc etc.

I think I am an open-hearted person, and I thank you for acknowledging that. I'm also someone who likes to laugh and find the comedic value in absurdity and in playing parts. Exaggeration and satire are my preferred forms of comedy.

Hope that helps you understand, even if you still don't like it. Playing characters and poking at people's perceptions is something I really enjoy. See also: Manny. A lot of people are highly disturbed when I dress like or act like that character. They don't know what to think about a girl who would let herself look that ugly. Isn't it a girl's job to constantly try to be appealing to men? (No!) There are social questions and ramifications behind all of this, and in fact, with Belissa... she is part of this world, I think, a baffled pawn in a patriarchy, where she wants to be strong and independent, but she has so little idea of how to do it because she is responding the way she hears the world tell her to-- by showing her cleavage (being "sexy"), by talking in a baby voice (being "sexy"), by trying to sound more knowledgeable than she is (and failing)... but what does she get for it? Called a slut. By strangers. I think that poses some EXCELLENT questions-- and why can't we laugh at it simultaneously?"

He sent me a very nice reply, thanking me for my explanation and saying he understood, so thankfully, this had a happy outcome. I'm not sure I was completely clear or even totally right, but that's the way I thought about it when asked. I think it's true that those are my underlying motivations, though really, I didn't sit down and think it out beforehand with respect to Belissa. I wasn't consciously trying to invite social change so much as I was just having a (somewhat bitter, I guess) laugh and being silly.

----

Speaking of it being ME under there.

I created a profile on a social site for Belissa. This is a site where I have a real profile, too, and though we look the same, Belissa has gotten more messages and come-ons in three days than I have in three months. This was somewhat disheartening. As you can imagine, Belissa's profile is full of the kind of shallow, misspelled, nonsensical "observations" you see in the videos. This, I guess(?), actually DOES make her more attractive than her twin sister, me. The responses are not just from men who appear to share her "values," either. I don't want to jump the gun with assumptions, but everything I can think of to explain this kind of horrifies me.

Then there are the comment responses on YouTube. Some sick/weird Kauffman-esque (heh) part of me delights in the upset Belissa causes when people think she's real. The responses to those who believe she's in earnest range from bemused ("O, Belissa. You're a goddess!"), pessimistically concerned ("You don't really think this, do you? Because..."), to leering ("You're sexy," "Nice tits," I've even gotten some unsolicited cock shots sent to me/her), and finally to antagonistic and rude. Those last are the ones that give me a kick. I start out being amused by them, then really worried. Let's face it: It's a strange masochism on my part, really, hoping for those responses. On one hand, I'm glad someone didn't just accept Belissa's crap, and I'm tickled that they believed her enough to be provoked. This is what really begs the questions. Why are they so bothered? Why is this the response they have to her? Why do they take it personally? What is the subtext here, on both sides? On the other hand, the way they attack her makes me feel really shitty about humanity in general. Not least is the fact that the attacks, though on Belissa, are often on me. I try to consider them in context and recognize that they were somewhat invited, but I'm human. Look at this comment, posted on the "Belissa vs The Haters" video:

now i aint no hater, props for doing this vlog but man ur shit is whack! first of all on the herpes thing if you gonna talk bout it then get your facts straight plus showin those gross boobs of yours dont help and of course you aint no slut who would want to have sex with u with the lights on cuz u nasty, lose some weight girl cuz ppl dont get what u say with your heavy breathing , BTW who's taping u your mom? man tell them to tape your face not your boobs dont u know that demises women duh!

Wow.

haha. WOW.

First of all, this person is absolutely right about some things, if she believes Belissa is a real person and is in earnest. Of course the herpes discourse is ridiculous (though guess what? Dr Zoo told me it is actually true that dogs get herpes! Huh!), and yes it certainly is, in my view, degrading to make a point of pushing as much cleavage as you can into every video you make, in hopes that people will watch.

I know this person felt very strongly and decided to lash out by hitting where it hurts, and the things that upset her aren't actually true of me, but it's likely nobody's idea of a good time to hear that they need to lose weight and that their "boobs" are "gross." Whoops.

I let this get to me enough that I sent the person a private message. (Like an idiot, I copied it, failed to paste it anywhere, and then continued to put other things on my clipboard, so I don't have the actual message.) I explained basically that I agreed it could be degrading and dehumanizing for a woman to act as though her only value lies in her ability to attract sexual attention, but that there were other things I felt were degrading and dehumanizing... like the kind of vitriol she was spewing at Belissa. You can't have it both ways. You can't tell a woman she is wrong for using her sexuality to try to validate herself, but then turn around and tell her she's not worthy of finding love or attention BECAUSE she isn't attractive. I asked her, basically, if she felt she was so knowledgeable and superior, why did she have to take such an adversarial tone with a girl who she felt was obviously lacking in self esteem? Was she jealous? Does she believe women are, or should be, in competition with each other? Is that competition about our sexual worth? Was the worst thing she could think to say about Belissa's BEHAVIOR and the content of her words... related to the size or appearance of her breasts... about whether or not they were hot enough? WHAT THE FUCK? I suggested that if she really felt more enlightened than Belissa, perhaps she could have offered some sort of help, stayed silent, or failing that mercy, find someone her own "size" to pick on.

Then again, maybe I could have, too. It's not as though the person I sent this to is going to thank me for the lesson, right? If it's understood in the first place, I suspect the person will resent the message. I let my hurt feelings make me preachy, and I know that. However, I felt like I articulated some of the things I'd been feeling pretty well in my response, and I wanted to share it in order to get some feedback.

If only I weren't stupid enough to have lost it.

Maybe it will show up later in my sent box, and I'll edit this.

Thoughts? At all?

So I know I'm probably the only one in the entire universe who feels this way, but I haven't had much inclination to go see WALL-E, even though I pretty much adore most of the Pixar films. I don't know. I guess I'll have to forfeit my hipster badge, but I just don't really care one way or the other about (even fictional, 'awesome' type) robots, and in general, I never can associate them with 'cute.' Neopets freaked me out. The Roomba is kind of a cool concept, but still. Maybe I watched Maximum Overdrive at a young age. From the admittedly few bits I've seen, WALL-E looks like my nightmares of a crazy apocalyptic antisocial future. I don't know. I feel like such a stick in the mud about this, but I'd much rather go see Kit Kittredge, which just looks so Cute Cuteridge I want to puke but can't resist its appeal.

I'm really just waiting around for Stepbrother, because I will see any piece of crap Will Ferrell does. Yeah, sometimes he's really not that funny, but I refuse to miss the occasions when he is, because that man is genius when he hits it right. And though life isn't bad at all right now, I'm feeling like I could really use a laugh.

When couldn't I?

Happy Fourth, Everyone!

Things are going pretty well. Mr Roboto found a job, so he's excited and relieved, though it's in San Diego, so he's driving quite a bit. The kiddos are doing well and seem happy. We've been to the water park a few times, and we took a couple mini-vacations, but the preteen seems to be happiest when left to her own devices... which means reading Japanese comics online or playing with her PSP. Dr Zoo went out of town to see his family and celebrate his parents' FIFTIETH, which is adorable. He said he wished I could go along, but it's just too early for that, and anyway, the kids... Cute that he wanted that, though. He'll be gone for his birthday, too, so I'll have to think of something nice to do for him.

One of my internet crushes from waaayyy back is coming out here for work and wants to meet up, so that should be interesting. FORESHADOWING.

I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance, chasing coyotes in the back yard (pups! awww!), swimming, eating too well, making stupid sketch comedy videos, and working. Sadly, probably in that order. The only vids I've posted are the Belissa Blog videos, but those are getting crazy amounts of hits, so that makes me pretty happy. I love absurdity.

Made three characters. Belissa. Manny. and Ilejna.

Here's Belissa's Blog.



and

One of the very few drawbacks to my recent move, aside from missing my SF friends, is that I quit my band and haven't really been doing -anything- musically for the past couple of months. I really wanted to do something tangible this year, have one solid thing that I could be somewhat proud of. We were working toward several gigs, and I'd written a bluesy tune that I was excited about, to which my bandmates were contributing some good rock edge. Well... that's over.

I think I get really inhibited from time to time because I am so far behind the curve on my skill. Up until last year, I knew maybe three chords on a guitar, and all I do with a piano is plunk at it to pick out whatever my ear wants. But I have songs that want out, so I try... because I love it.

After a phone call last night, from someone who is always very (overly!) supportive about my "talent," I was inspired to film a very short video of a rough draft of a song I'd been kicking around. I think that sharing it will make me want to improve it. I know it will. I'll want to show you that I can do better. If you see me in my embarrassing underoos, maybe that will motivate me to get fully dressed.

Whatever. I never said I was normal.

*Jitterbug*

The song is still in my head.

So... everything is going pretty well, and there's a lot to catch up here. I think I'll save most of that for my frenzlist. In a nutshell, my ex from NC (but not the one you're thinking, probably) came up for Memorial Day weekend to visit. I put my son into, and promply withdrew him from, public school. He's in a private Montessori elementary now. I was worried about how I would afford this when my good work karma caught up with me in the form of an old boss who hunted me down to work for his own company... from home! I've been kind of sick for the past couple of days, but Mr. Roboto finished up his job at Lucasfilm and is finally moving down this weekend to be with us here permanently. YAY!

My friend Mt. Everest was helping me unpack a couple of leftover boxes yesterday, and we found the video camera. It's really slapdash and silly, but we had a few hours to kill and I wanted to try out the software on my NEW COMPUTAR(!@#$@#), which I just got in order to facilitate New Job. So yeah, if you remember the "Puppies Are Cute" video, it's kind of that level of ridiculous, with a little stereotyping thrown in for silly's sake. I hope that my comedy stylings, directing, and production level in general will improve over the summer... because it sure is fun. And my kid-- I'm sorry, maybe it's just me, but -- SO CUTE!

IF you were wondering where half the population of Palm Springs' older gay male couples went this afternoon, I can tell you. They were with me. Sitting in the Mary Pickford theater #2 in Cathedral City, watching Sex and the City. MOST of the audience was made up of men.

I find this awesome. They laughed and clapped, and occasionally screamed*. I was a little sad that I didn't have any girl friends out here to go with, but this more than made up for it. That was one appreciative audience. (Note: I also saw a couple of older het couples, and many a funky-hatted older woman with stilettos. There were only about three groups of young women that I saw. Of course, it was a matinee...)

As far as the movie goes, I've read some pretty bad reviews, and there are definitely flaws and disappointing character arcs... but I'll say this. It's been a long time since a movie made me care enough to cry. I really didn't mind that it lasted eight hours. Seriously.

*I just want to go on record to say that, though I enjoyed the particular grouping of gay men and couples who watched the movie in the theater with me, I do not think that to be homosexual means automatically being an "occasionally screaming" hysterical fashion-and-drama hound or reduces the aforementioned group of men to being nothing more than "fabulous queens" who can't get enough SatC.

There is a water park just around the corner from us. In exactly the time it takes to play the Kooks "Always Where I Need to Be," a song I love on a sunny day, you can get from my driveway to the parking lot and jump out to race to the front gates. WeeMan and I raced up the rope ladders to various water slides in a gigantic fort, and then we floated around on the little fake lazy river for a while. We got there just a couple of hours before the park closed, so we got just enough time to swim and then run around, shaking off the water like pups in the heat. It was 105 degrees, so by the time we got to our lockers, we were already dry. On the way to the car, we saw a mother bird feeding her baby from a nest she'd build halfway up a palm tree. I came home and sat by our pool for a while, while the sun sank behind the mountains. I still have that Kooks song in my head, a happy, sleepy kid cuddled up next to me, and a slight warmth in my skin from the sun I got. Why can't it always be like this?

During a break between household chores today, I flipped on the television and saw a commercial clip from a reality show (I think it was The Real World, actually) in which a young lady drunkenly declares, "I'm waayy hotter than that slut in the glitter belt," and... it randomly struck me that it is a crazy, amazing, and terrible thing that there are, concurrently on this same planet today, teams of disaster relief workers trying desperately to find any desperately struggling, breathing bodies left in heaps of rubble from the several recent natural disasters ...

and elsewhere, an ill-mannered, inarticulate idiot (whose "fame," I'll add, is related to his speaking) wearing a plastic helmet and a gigantic clock necklace, picking off scary women who have been offered to him, like so many nasty salmonella-riddled entrees on a picnic buffet, for TV ratings. And the biggest problem here is that I can tell you way more about that dehumanizing picnic, am more invested-- on however shallow a level-- in viewing that spectacle, than I am informed regarding the plights of the millions of people involved in the very real tragedies going on, or in what I can do to help.

I try not to feel too ashamed. I can explain. But in the end, today, I don't want to. I just want to tip the scales the other way.

Awesome thing about living in Palm Springs #296: Just a little over an hour to Disneyland.

So the thrill of this one really belongs to my son, but because his extreme joy is such that it radiates to heat all of those around him, including his mommy, I'm counting it. For Mothers Day weekend, I took my kiddo to ride Splash Mountain, and together we scream-sing-laughed at mechanical animals while Mt Everest, who insisted on sitting in front, took the full, merciless brunt of the waves on what was an altogether cool, cloudy day. (Ha! Instant karma, greedy!) It was awesome and hilarious, and thanks to the very recent loss of his front tooth, WeeMan's giant, beatific jack-o-lantern grin was the best Mothers Day gift I could have hoped to lay eyes on.

A phone call this morning from my sweet TripleP made me very happy, too, and comes in second only because it's not quite as nice as having her to hug in person. Alas, that pleasure will be delayed until the beginning of next month.

So Happy Mothers Day to my mom in Wallis, Texas, the most wonderful, most brilliant, toughest, supportive, beautifully tender heart I've had the pleasure to know. Proof that my dad not only makes awesome kids-- he has excellent taste in women.

Happy Mothers Day to my second mom in Atlanta, GA. Life events may not have allowed her to be actually related to me, but in my heart, the bond is unbreakable. If there was some kind of lifetime award for fierce loyalty and love, it would be hers, and I have admired the strength and determination of her love, particularly for her family, for the decade (DECADE!) I've known her.

Happy Mothers Day to YOUR moms, my friends, because they each clearly did a good job with you.

And lastly, because I have seen this holiday from some difficult vantage points before, I want to extend some extra love to those of you who feel a twist in your heart today because you are separated from your mother, either by geography or loss of another sort. Likewise to the single mothers out there whose children don't have someone to help them show you their gratitude and love in a traditional manner today. Rest assured that your job-- your love, your patience (though perhaps not constant), your effort-- is the most important on earth, and I respect your role with all my heart. I know I'm not alone.

Awesome thing about living in Palm Springs #235: Coyotes.

Okay, so today's awesome thing is more about the "awe" than the rad feeling. I was putting away groceries and making peanut butter and jelly sammiches. Mt Everest and WeeMan were standing on our patio out back, just on the other side of the kitchen, cleaning the grill and fixing a fan, when I hear Mt Everest exclaim, "What tha!"

I figured it was something confounding regarding the mechanics of the various tasks they were accomplishing, but I perked my ears up a bit anyway. Mumbles. Then WeeMan, who has some trouble following orders to whisper, asks loudly, "That's a coyote?!"

Oooh! So I stepped around the kitchen table to the open door, and oh my god! Not three feet away, a large and rangy coyote was kinda casually loping around our open back yard, headed for the next tee on the golf course. He was in no hurry, even though there were several black birds freaking the hell out all around us. He stared us in the face, probably casing the joint, and then he went back to trying to figure out a good way to get off the open greenway. We watched him with some mixture of thrill, amazement, curiosity, and horror until he disappeared under some bushes that lead to other peoples' private patios on the other side of the course.

Not long after, an older couple walked by with their Yorkies on leashes. The lady was on the phone, and I called to the gentleman to inquire as to whether or not they'd seen our new neighbor. "Yeah," the man said. "We chased him down here. They've had a lot of problems with the coyotes around here recently. Particularly with pups and the younger children," he added, pointedly, gesturing toward WeeMan.

Fantastic. Scare my kid. He continued, "They've been pretty aggressive lately. We have problems with mountain lions from time to time, too. If you see one, just... just... raise your arms over your head and try to intimidate them."

Why am I suddenly picturing the illustrations in Where the Wild Things Are?

I guess it's time to place a few orders with ACME.

Awesome thing about living in Palm Springs, #234: Hearing seventy(plus) year old women, dressed in shiny gold sandals, in Target laughing and calling each other 'girlfriend.'

"This is just darling!" holding up a purple sundress.

"I know! I saw that, myself."

"Get it!"

"Get-- I need to get out of here before you spend all my money, girl!"

"Ha Ha! But you know you would look--" So hot? Fly? Way sexier than that damned Ethel?

Their laughter and conversation faded out to me as I headed for the bicycles, but they sounded so happy and loud. I got a good giggle out of it.

I stepped gingerly through the crazy maze of boxes in our new living room, looking for a giant stuffed dog. WeeMan, now a super tall six-year-old, followed behind, asking over and over, "Where's Astronaut Puppy? Do you see him?"

"Astronaut Puppy?!" my friend, Mt Everest, said.

"Yeah, that's what he named it." I didn't see it, so WeeMan left to look in another room.

Mt Everest laughed. "I know. He told me. I asked him why he named it Astronaut Puppy, and he said, 'Because it's so big.'"

"Well, I guess if it makes sense to him, that's what matters." I yelled down the hall to my son, "See if he's with Armadillo!" Armadillo is his beloved stuffed Build-A-Bear rabbit. "Whatever. I love the way he names his animals. It's hilarious. PrettyPoutingPreteen used to name hers based solely on what they looked like. She had 'Rabbit That's Pink' and 'Black Hair Boy.' I couldn't get her to give them actual names, until she was about four and finally started calling every single one of her toys 'Rainbow Heart Flower.'"

"Rainbow Heart Flower? Really?" (PPP is not a girl you'd imagine naming -anything- Rainbow Heart Flower these days. If it doesn't come from Hot Topic or have something to do with manga, she doesn't have time for it.)

"Yep. But WeeMan... I've noticed he likes names with four syllables, stressing the third. When we got Armadillo on his fifth birthday, he didn't have any idea what an armadillo even was."

WeeMan walks back into the room. "Yes, I did! It's an animal it goes like it makes itself into a ball!" Speed-talking to prove he's no idiot, he also tried to curl himself into a demonstrative ball.

"No, WeeMan," Mr Roboto piped up from the couch. "I realize you know what it is now, but at the time, you had no real concept of an armadillo."

"But now I do!"

"Yes," I reassured him. "We agree. You do know now. Anyway, he named that one Armadillo--"

"Armadillo Fluffington Honeybutt!"

Mt Everest laughed, and I continued. "That one Armadillo... the orange monkey is Arabella... then this year, on his birthday, he got the skateboarding bear from Build-A-Bear, and he named it Barracuda. See? ArmaDILLo, AraBELLa, BarraCUda... I don't know what it is about that sound, but he clearly digs it."

"Does he know what a barracuda is?" Mt Everest asked.

"No!" I laughed. "I think he just hears the 'bear' in the word 'barracuda,' and so... we tried to explain it to--"

WeeMan can barely contain himself. "I do TOO know what a barracuda is! It's... SOME KIND OF MOOSE!"

Something about living in San Francisco, as much as I love/d it, has made me less enjoy posting to LJ. I have no idea what the connection is there. However, I'm moving to Palm Springs, and suddenly I feel like I am ready to start writing again.

I love the city. I am so sorry about the things and people I will miss when I'm not here.

But for the first time in about three years, I feel SO excited and optimistic! I want some sunshine!