Who Knows...

...what tomorrow brings? But today brings furniture.

Packing for a Trip to the Colonies

Oh to know the provenance of this British toiletpaper roll that somehow made its way to the Goodwill store on Clement, in San Francisco (where I left it).

Mary: But Alistair, it's the Colonies. It's best to be prepared.

When Dogs Paint

Christmas Blessings of Sorts

We celebrated Christmas here with a Hot Luck. (Sound familiar? It's a pot-luck perfected by PDX Dave.) Spicy food and drink was the theme. I made deviled eggs, which brought this surprise.

Twins.

Dana: Where did that egg come from?

A-L: A chicken.

(Insert existential chicken/egg loop here.)

And then a friend of semi-half faux Scottish extraction brought this delight:

A-L: Be still my heart. Is that an Irn Bru? Where did you get that?

Scottish(ish) friend: One of the Irish stores.

(Insert existential Scottish/Irish loop. If you know of one.)

Christmas-time Sky in San Francisco

San Francisco at Christmas-time... In case you need another reason to come visit, dear friends in Scotland, and other cold/rainy climes.

San Francisco Competitive Parenting, Quarterfinals

SF Parent #1: Does your nanny only speak Spanish with your child?

SF Parent #2: No.

SF Parent #1: Oh, that's too bad. A missed opportunity.

SF Parent #2: But the funny thing is, the cat is terrified of the vacuum cleaner, and she can't tell the nanny and housekeeper apart, so she's scared of both of them.*

SF Parent #1: Oh, I see.

SF Parent #2: Yeah. We're teaching the cat Spanish, so she can distinguish between the two.

*This is a bonus story.

A Metaphor??

Yesterday all Christmas items were 30% off at the Salvation Army. (If you receive a slightly yellowed-with-age Christmas card from me, you'll know where it came into my possession.) This handsome nativity set (above) appears to be a bargain at $25. Even cheaper after the discount. (I'm not good at word problems, so I'll leave it the mathematicians to calculate the final price.)

But if you look closely, you'll see a key, er, figure is missing. Yes, dear reader, no Baby Jesus. I have a couple theories.

A. It's part of a new "Where's Baby Jesus?" franchise.

B. It's a metaphor for our times, where people have truly lost sight of "the reason for the season".

C. Sorry Caroline, but there's always the possibility that the giraffe-stealing Presbyterians have him.

And then my friend pointed out that the Jesus slot in the package is the same size as a Ferrero Rocher. Which could be used in a pinch as a substitute.

Overheard, Part XV

Overheard, two people on a lunch break: Well, it's going to be interesting to see what happens...

Translations: Well, it's going to suck.

WoW from PSP

"Words of Wisdom from Public Safety Pete" is the theme of the day.

Yesterday I phoned PSP and Irma to check on the progress of "The Great House Painting of 2010."

A-L: How's the house painting going?

PSP: We've hit a snag.

A-L: Tell me more.

PSP: It's raining. And there are two things you don't do in the rain: paint, and pour concrete.

A-L: Wow, just two.

Define: Bonus Story

Yesterday PSP reported that he and Irma are getting the house painted. The last time such a thing happened was in 1986, when Mr. Reinhardt, the 4th grade teacher at my elementary school, painted "the Somis house" (as we call her).

PSP: We're getting the house painted.

A-L: Cool, is Mr. Reinhardt still spending his school vacations painting houses?

PSP: Don't think so.

A-L: Do you remember when he painted the Somis house?

PSP: Sure do. And you better believe the painter heard all about it today.

A-L: Wow, he unlocked a bonus story.

(A bonus story is a story not entirely relevant to the situation at hand, and/or not interesting to the listener. Often can be totally irrelevant, and leads to a story set in Finland. It's a conversation feature perfected by some of our family members, who are Finnish, and sisters, and over the age of 70. Although they've been practicing the art of the bonus story since their youth. Not age related. No known treatment.)

PSP: Yes, he sure did. And I see him unlocking a few more bonus stories over the next couple days.

A-L: Did you advise him that the method for "disarming" the bonus story is to answer the question "Have I told you about xxxxx?" with "Yes"?

PSP: Yes. I mean, no.

Sisters...and Regifting

Look at this special ornament I found at the Salvation Army. (I left it there.)

It says "Sisters share a special Love 1995". I imagine it has a tiny footnote that says "even if you give away this special gift without opening it."

Merry Almost Christmas, Sister Maria.

The Emperor Penguin Had No Shoes

Sister Maria was "helping" Aila and Annais clean up the guest room, when she stumbled upon a village of characters. This tiny dorf was inhabited by toy horses, and unicorns, and this fancily clad fellow:

I call this piece "Penguin in Heels". We took him back home, as he didn't look up for the long walk from the guest room back to the girls' room. Somebody forgot to pack his walking shoes.

Some Bunny

Some bunny is NOT happy to be at the Goodwill store on Fillmore in San Francisco. Look at that face. I'm not sure why she's holding a rope? Any ideas?

The Toyota Camry

Last night the Dog-Father drove me to my Camry, which had been strategically parked for over a week.

A-L: Please don't drive away. I'm not entirely confident it will start.

The Camry starts up, and sounds a bit, er, groggy.

A-L: Sounds good, huh?

D-F: Yes, perfect. Purring like a kitten.

A-L: A kitten that's been drinking whisky.

Kitty: A glass of Laphroaig for me, please.

Dorkbook

PWR, my blog muse, and I were sitting in a cafe. PWR is looking down at his phone.

A-L: What in heaven's name are you doing?

PWR: Being anti-social. I mean, checking Foursquare.

A-L: Is that a Pentacostal church locator?

PWR: No, it's like Facebook. I'm "checking in" so other users know my location.

A-L: Um, you've travelled halfway around the world to visit friends here in the Bay Area, and now you're squandering your valuable face-to-face time with them "checking in" on some web site, so the friends you left behind in Scotland know where you are?

PWR: Uh huh. And whoever checks in the most on Foursquare

A-L: Is the biggest dork?

PWR: Close. Is named the mayor.

A-L: Let me guess, you're the biggest dork.

PWR: And the mayor.

A-L: So, what's the idea?

PWR: The idea is that you can find other Foursquare members in the same location, and connect with them.

A-L: Instead of "connecting" with the person you're ostensibly there to visit?

PWR: Yes.

A-L: I liked it better when it was a Pentacostal Church locator.

Kitty: Already exists.

Q is For Kindergarten Homework

Every week, Annais's kindergarten class celebrates, if you will, a different letter of the alphabet. This week's letter is H.

Sister Maria: I'm not looking forward to week Q.

A-L: Pourquoi?

Sister Maria: Well, Annais has to find pictures that illustrate that letter, and write the word next to the picture. And Q is a tricky one. So during your magazine perusals, if you see a picture that starts with Q, please tear out that page.

A-L: I don't suppose Annais knows how to spell Quixotic.

Sister Maria: She'll learn. Did you find a picture that illustrates it?

A-L: Uh, I don't really know what it means. But I did find another Q image.

Sister Maria: Which one?

A-L: It's a picture of the Vietnamese jungle.

Sister Maria: I don't follow.

Annais: It's Q, for Quagmire.

Public Transportation

The joys of riding public transportation in San Francisco are many. Just yesterday evening I overheard this conversation:

John: My dad owns a metal working company, and he's just hired this guy who he worked with 18 years ago.

Jane: Really?

John: Yeah. But there's something not right about him. He worked as a dishwasher for a few years.

Jane: Your dad?

John: No, the guy.

Jane: Oh.

John: And I think he was in a gang for a while.

Jane: Your dad?

Folks, I couldn't make this up. And then this morning, on the N-Judah, embarking at the Powell Street Station:

Man 1: Don't push me.

Man 2: I'm not.

Man 1: Don't push me again. If you push me again...

Man 2: What's your problem?

Man 1: Don't push me.

And then there was a stare down, which got really uncomfortable. Namely because they were two software engineer(y) looking types, neither of whom would fare well in a fist fight.

Question: What's worse than two 30-somethings acting like 11-year-olds?

Answer: Two 40-somethings acting like 11-year-olds.

And then the 40-year-olds got off at the same stop and crossed the street to go into the Google building.

Matchmaking

I don't blog about dating, unless it's about the dating adventures of friends who are now married. Namely, my friend who shall remain nameless. When I met him, he was 36, or 34, and dateless. He casually mentioned that he owned a scale model of the Starship Enterprise. I suggested that he not tell prospective dates that. Ever. I also reminded him that, in order to own a scale model of something, an original must have existed. (He disputes that we had this conversation, and that he ever owned such a thing...now that he's happily married to one of my very funny and gorgeous friends. You know who you are. And so do your hot-tubbing raccoons.)

This weekend I told a bachelor friend - let's call him John Doe - this cautionary tale, of the scale-model-owning bachelor. He laughed. And laughed. And about three hours later, John turned to the attractive woman sitting to his left and said: "I've seen you before. Do you go to pinball?"

Adventures In Moving

I recently walked past a house where the owners were mid-move. They were moving out, which is never as satisfying as moving in. In the midst of a sea of boxes stood a frazzled 50-something couple that looked about 250 years old. Moving does that to you.

So I did what Irma would want me to do.

A-L: I have a message for you, from my mother, who has moved 13,000 times. That message is 'Peace be with you.'

Haggard moving woman, with tears in her eyes: Thank you. Thank you.

What's my point? There is none. It's just that this Thanksgiving week I was looking for an opportunity to give thanks for the fact that I have not moved in almost two years. A near record, for the Frequent Flying Gypsy Sandstrums of Camarillo (formerly of Laihia, Inglewood, Compton, Helsinki, Granada Hills, Simi Valley, Somis, Heusenstamm, Mission Viejo, Los Angeles, Santa Monica, Portland, Salzburg, Camas, Burbank, Pasadena, Palm Desert, Coachella, Encino, Edinburgh, San Francisco - in more or less that order).

Which brings me to this somewhat related memory. When I lived in Burbank I had an Israeli roommate who worked for a moving company called "Let's Move It Right." And our other roommate used to tack on the phrase "this time" to the end. Took the words right out of Irma's mouth.

Shameless Advertising

I work at a book publisher. We publish a book called Bird Songs Bible which features recordings (from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology) of all the birds of North America.

I encourage you to introduce this book to an animal near you, because something super funny, like this, might happen.