One of the lost Sebbeths: K-Dog.

One of the 12 Days of 40 was Learn to surf. I put my faith (and ass) in the hands of my very good friend K-Dog ('I believe you'll thank our host this evening, for the use of an alias') (bonus points for naming that movie) K is a great friend and buddy, amazing father, skilled delegator, and awkward dancer. His family is like mine, each one funnier than the next and when they all gather, it's usually a Lovefest of increasing aural volume. We've known each other for several years and though we don't get together as much there's an assurance that the friendship can be picked up right where it was last. Back to my faith (and ass).

Vintage pix of KDog, last day at Duker.

K is a skilled surfer in the Santa Monica hood. His presence on the beach sends lesser surfers and homeless alike scampering away as if he was Obi Wan Kenobi. He has become my Obi Wan and my Billy Banks. I am enrolled in KDoggie's Surf Academy. (Board of Fiberglass Education) I have learned to deck change (lose your clothes on the street, changing into your wetsuit under a towel. This has always amused me whenever I drive to work. I pass many of these surfers doing the same. The most difficult thing is getting into the wetsuit. It's like a vacuum or a new skin, two sizes too small. I look like a geriatric fool getting into the suit, but it's so worth it. I've also learned to duck dive which is where you dive under the enormous wave which would crush lesser fools. You sneak under the energy of the wave and retain your cool. K's teaching me surf cool.

Surf Cool is a lot like dog walking. The turf is marked and the bigger dogs are regarded for their skills. They address each other as 'Brah' and have a whole sub language. They can 'vibe' each other to criticize their spacial awareness or lack of etiquette. They shred, they rip, they tube. I feel it stiffening in my brain, or maybe it's that the water quality of Santa Monica is suspect. It's a great sport, swimming in a petri dish. They really mean 'Toes on the Nose'. I know that K has maintained his individuality from the heard, though he is bilingual to surfspeak.

Yesterdays lesson wrapped up in fine style. My patient K-Dog cajoled and prodded me in his Boot camp. I got up a few times, and rode one for a little bit. I really am enjoying this activity I was thinking while watching K catch some water for himself. When he was done, making everyone in the vicinity look like spastic orphans on ironing boards, he told me there was no leaving until I got up again. Boom I was back on the board, looking for the wave. It came, I paddled like a madman, pushed up and slid off. I was learning in bad conditions yesterday according to K, low tide and small swells. "Back on, Do it Again!" the drill sarge barked with glee. Back on, back out, waiting. Here it comes, paddle, paddle, paddle and.....................push up! Nosedive. Nose of board into the beach, surfer into the wave. Surface. The teacher has gone bananas. Bananas I tell you. He's jumping up and down, hooting and howling. He's waving his arms shouting, "That's how we end a lesson. Yeah!". I was less thrilled with that particular moment in my schooling then realized he was commenting on the surfboard, split in two. I was mortified, and he was elated. Education is weird. The board had seen a lot of action, and then had been given to him. He put some miles on it and taught students on it. It had served K well. I was still in shock and then found the humor.

So we boogie boarded the rest of the lesson on the shattered instrument and put the board in the trash on our way back to the day. As much as a reality check getting into the wetsuit getting out of it's even funnier for newbies. My teacher is pleased with my progress and elated in the humor. Back to the day we go leaving the beach behind. He had conference calls I had NetFlix. KDog, thanks for starting this wave of activity (funny on two levels) and for being as patient as a circus tattoo artist decorating the backside of a constipated elephant. I'm learning more and more each time and soon you'll be able to look cool again. Peaceoutside.

"Brah, I shred so hard man, I break my stick."-Tony Spats, total californitized new englander, on turning 40

Laugh At Joe Lieberman Day!!!!!!!!

Another reason to celebrate, Laugh At Joe Lieberman Day!!!!!!!!!!!

I know it's not an easily recognizable holiday but if those two guys can Make International Talk Like A Pirate Day than this should be a cake walk.

Follow the instructions from the link provide ha-ha-here and let this politco-relic hypocratic oat know how he's regarded. His politcal party (what is this week?) should be the Revolving Door or better yet; The Tur-duck-en.

Why Gay Marriage is Wrong.

This is from my friend Brady, who takes it (my abuse) like a champ. I'm torn between liking three or four best.

10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is Wrong!

ShareToday at 1:43am

Copied from elsewhere on the web.

1) Being gay is not natural.And real Americans always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning, tattoos, piercings and silicon breasts...

2) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay.In the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.

3) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior.People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract. Lamps are next.

4) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all.Hence why women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and divorce is still illegal.

5) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed.And we can't let the sanctity of Britney Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage be destroyed.

6) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children.So therefore, gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our population isn't out of control, our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.

7) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children.Since, of course, straight parents only raise straight children.

8) Gay marriage is not supported by religion.In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in America.

9) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home.Which is exactly why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.

10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms.Just like we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.

March Now!

Please come out, come out, wherever you are:

Tonight!

6pm!

Sunset Junction of Silverlake

Where Sunset Blvd. meets

Santa Monica Blvd.

Come out to rally for the repeal of Prop. 8,

it's Unfair and Wrong.

Arrange furniture, not people's marriages.

We are not second class citizens.

Equal rights, please.

melissa etheridge and her Prop 8 opinion.

I love me some ME.

www.thedailybeast.com/blogs-and-stories/2008-11-06/you-can-forget-my-taxes/

No on 8 PSA: CONSTITUTION

This is the largest grassroots political movement in California's history. Get off my civil rights and put ignorance back where it belongs, in the church.

Third Grade Gay

Give us a cause to celebrate. Let's do this.

Rabbit, rabbit.

Yeah baby. Rabbit Rabbit.

Well it didn't make the grade this month (I'm writing this postumously for the sebbeth) We had a fantastic idea to help some people out and it fell apart. The Duke's "For A Cure" Breast Cancer Benefit was cancelled due to many reasons I don't feel like getting into again. It's over. It's done and we plan to do the benefit next year with a more solid plan and effort from all parties. The lessons learned in this debacle will provide more insight to '09. Why should Sara Palin be the only one making lofty long range plans. Thanks for all the nice words and works; ya made me feel great.

In lieu of a sebbeth post I'll leave you with a grand bit of words celebrating the Spirit we all strive to extol. I dedicate this post to my mother, Pauline Spatafora. She's the woman that I learned to get back up on my feet each time I get knocked down. She's the ideal I consider when I do something, it's with an effort the strength of huricane. She put amazing good stuff in me. She's a Phenomenal Woman. Phenomally.


Phenomenal Woman

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.


Maya Angelou

Sebbeth.

Wednesdays child is a quiet child. I'm finding the economy is a bummer. I've done my level best this year to restart the global economy with the 12 Days, but I'm not getting the dollar to go as far as I need it to. This is trying.

We are quiet this month as the sebbeth lets us reflect on the year. I'm pretty jazzed to where we've been and where we're going. Amazing events appear to happen all over the calendar not solo 17Th. Fall is here, Mexico is near, Halloween nearer, and the big event comes soon after both.

Last week LynZ, June and I made the trip to Ahmanson to see and a fun little number entitled '9 to 5; the musical. Yep, you've guessed it, the American cinema was mined again to try and find blond luck for the American theater. The best part that this had for it was that the music and lyrics were by Miss Dolly Parton herself. The familiar theme song has a co-starring role in the production that features my favorite Alison Janney cast as Violet Newstead; the role Lilly Tomlin brought to life. The music is cute and really enthusiastically put out there for all to love. All three leads kicked the hell out of their songs, if only the story had a little more zip to sell it. Dolly has put a great little number in for the Dora-Lee Rhodes character. The sexpot brings "Backwoods Barbie" to the laps of the audience and leaves the joint a-smilin'.

When we saw the show it had just opened and was still experiencing some growing pains. In the second act the recently freed boss, Franklin Hart, begins to extract vengeance on the three ladies who have held him captive all this time. As he unleashes his demands he grabs for the phone on his desk, who's cord has not been reconnected since Dora Lee ripped it out in the first act. Oooooopps. The cord sails around loose, even as the phone miraculously rings. We bust a gut laughing at what only live theater can bring to a night. The actors all tried numerous covers for the gaff and settled on not being able to fix it. This was fine by us in the house. Everyone was smiling. On a preview night earlier in the week the show was plagued with some technical difficulties causing the show to stop. Miss Parton watching the show stands and starts chatting the crowd up. She ends up buying the crew time by leading the audience in an Capella version of the theme song. Everybody ate it up, even Miss Parton. "C'mon, y'all know the words by now, don't ya?" To keep it going, she then sang "I'll Always Love You" with an intro letting the audience know that Whitney may have sung it prettier, Dolly made more money on it. Now that's pretty funny.

The show is off for New York where it will probably die a quick death. I'm glad I got to see it because it is one of my favorite movies. I was glad to see that so many of the great scenes in the film were translated in word and sentiment to the stage. This production did lovingly approach the movie in this, so I was thankful. It was a fun night.

Rabbit, rabbit.

Rabbit Rabbit. Here's a new month of joy to play and frolic towards forty with. Or to take forty steps to the playground and fall into the sand looking for the wormhole that brought me here. I think back to childhood and what is it I see? Sandboxes, inchworms and of course.................the Village People.

This manfest that rode (pun intended) the rising star of Disco in the late seventies until, well, now is as American as Liberace, Betty White and apple pie. This troupe of performers featured a cop, a cowboy, a leather man, an Indian, and a soldier each chosen to be typical masculine varieties. The homo eroticism was lost on a naive public. A concept band, Village People was the genius of Jacques Morali, a French musician who planned on cashing in on theDisco phenomena. After hearing the amazing voice of the original cop, Victor Wills, Morali auditioned for some manly talent to surround Wills with. So much the better that they could dance and carry a stage presence. Audition notices went out and a crew was assembled. When their hit "Macho Man" made number one, the splash that the Village People made had the American attention. It would be the iconic "Y.M.C.A" that would forever leave the Village People's mark on the United States and the world. Other hits include "Go West", "In The Navy" and "Key West".

This year the Village People celebrate their thirtieth anniversary and will receive a star on The Hollywood Walk Of Fame, not far from Liberace's ironically. Although the line-up of the band has changed over the years, the role's have still held fast. The typical masculine varieties have been recast but their orders are still being obeyed. At many a social event a tribe of people in a circle will be throwing their hands in the air in the forms of letters to lyrics.

Birthdays and birthday suits.

Isn't it funny how we mark special occasions with ritualistic behavior. We blow out candles for wishes' sakes, we christen boats by smashing champagne bottles over their hulls, We extend blessings when people sneeze and yet nothing when they fart. On New Years Day many people mark the new year by jumping in the ocean, temperature be damned. Why is it so many of us when in our twenties decide to mark our birthdays by getting naked?

Is it a back to basics? Is it animal foreplay with the universe? Why do we jump into our birthday suit and start running a lap of victory? We don't necessarily call our parents and say, "Hey thanks for having the sense to not watching tv so many years ago so that you guys could make me. I really appreciate it today." I'm sure they appreciate their dna being bandied about in an uppity bar in Santa Monica with a blond bippity as jewelry on their precious labor. And yet it happens. Most of my twenties were spent with my pants dropped, my nipple exposed and my feet bare. There was always something that needed to be regarded with my physical side. In our twenties do we think that this is our only commodity? I certainly was the social one.

I had the privilege of attending a bday soiree last pm and witnessed the same behavior happening around the bar. The guest of honor enjoyed the bacchanalian worship. Other patrons in the place experienced similar joy. Maybe it's just part of the mating ritual but I can't help but see more meaning in it. It was late in the evening and yuppies were pairing up, but these acts pop up so frequently in celebratory events. It's been around for centuries. Maybe it's a tribute to Adam and Eve. Getting back to basics, as simple as it can be, and embracing joy. Exposing yourself is as old as the moon. Literally. (drops pants and moons monitor)

Sebbeth

It's an addiction this tattooing. I love my first one I got fifteen years ago, as the art form was getting it's rise.

I was in Auburn, NY and it had been an annoying day where we had done 'Aladdin' in two different venues in the same town. The load in and outs had been in the rain which made the day that much more bliss. I should also mention that this was probably our one thousandth performance of this children's theatre Chinese drip torture, we had begun in early June it was now October. I was the evil magician and if I got my hands on that little street whelp Aladdin, I would kill him; the cast was ready to kill each other. One quick corner with a magic carpet and I was going to put him right through Agrabar. Aaaaah non union theatre in the woods, it's as manly as hair on your buttocks. I digress.

Reba (The Genie) and I had decided we would get ink together and just had to get the date down. We looked at each other at the last load out and said 'Now', our bonding over ill fitting set pieces, too many c-clamps, and stinky costumes had brought us to this point. We would mark the occasion with ink, and if the pain was as good as we'd feared it would be a blessed alternative to where we had brought our lives. Don't misread this, we were overly dramatic, as was our prerogative. We were in the woods, delivering 'Quality Theater At Affordable Prices' and we'd been sharing a van with 2-3 other strong personalities. This was high drama at high altitudes. Off to Tatu Tony's just by the prison. The artist in residence, Tony, had 69 tattoo'd on his lip. We were so in the right place. Reba opted for a simple piece (I'm not sure if I should even divulge that she has one she's a soccer mom now) and mine as well. A simple Chinese character on my ankle, the pain was nothing. The worst part was the cramp I got from holding my leg up on an angle for soo long. For fifteen years I've loved my first and have eagerly wanted my second.

It's addicting. So I swore that one of the Sebbeths would be a tattoo. But what to get? And where? These were newbies problems. Get a set Spats. Get a set and get it done. Jen turned me on to an artist in the neighborhood who was clean and good. I just needed the specifics; location, art and deposit to secure an appointment. My this art form has come along way from the side of a prison. I began thinking it over and for a longtime have wanted a monkey on my back (hee hee). I narrowed the research to tribal and cartoon. I stumbled on some original Oz art and thought that might be genius. Marking my fortieth with a flying monkey, how Wicked. And it was my first professional job after college, and the first show little Julia saw me in back in 91 in Davenport Iowa. Another two stories entirely. The shop got me right in and here's my latest brethren, Balthazar (like Getty but more). I was sitting in the chair imagining where the next tattoo would be. And the next. This is addicting.

Sebbeth.

here we are again. speeding towards oblivion. I mean towards the next stage not total darkness. I'm on that shady side of the thirties most definitely. I'm in a position to recreate myself in the land of make believe where people have to do this or become boring. Los Angeles is the original town where you can stick a feather in your hat and call it art or haute cuisine. No one would dare shout that The Emperor has no clothes for chance their own nudity would be exposed. You can be whoever you'd like and no one will bat an eye. They'll bat if there's a gift bag involved.

I've decided to expand my minister enterprise and bring more people to the chapel than Elvis Presley. Marry me Bill, I love you so. I want to do this in a more commercial status and launch a website and get networking. You know how social I can be. I decided this Sebbeth would be a commitment to the new project and I enlisted my friend Jen to take some new head shots for my portfolio. We met for an enormous breakfast at the Griddle Cafe in HWood on Sunset and made our way to Melrose area. It's not unusual to see white trailers and crews in this area, filming away. It's even less unusual to see a photographer, strapped with equipment lead her subject around in search of great natural backdrops. Like some surrealist wildlife we traipsed through back alleys and side streets, parking lots and intersections as if it was our forest. We had amazing success and lots of laughs. With my wardrobe on my back and a smile on my face we made our way to Fred Siegel where we enjoyed a Peroni, Pellegrino and a peak at John C. Reilly (jen's fave actor).

When the website's up you'll be first to know. Here's the pix.

Bastille Day.

There's always a reason to celebrate in this year of joy. Bastille Day is just one of them.



The actual holiday is July 14Th and it commemorates the first anniversary of the storming of the French prison, The Bastille in 1789. This act led to the dissolution of the French monarchy and the rise of the French nation. Cheese eating surrender monkeys. F the french. I have animus from many years in food service and dealing with their representatives. Makes me want to storm them in revolution. I guess Bastille Day can be celebrated in many different ways.

7.11

Freeeeee Slurrrppppeeeeeeeeees!!!!!!!!!

Do you think this an urban myth? Do you expect to be found at the bottom of an over sized cup of semi frozen, semi carbonated cherry beverage with a bandage pressed to where your kidney used to be? Well let's debunk this urban myth (yeth?) right here and now as we find another cause to celebrate in the 12 Days Of 40.

On July 11Th of every year, the Seven Eleven Corporation celebrates it's company's birthday as well as Customer Appreciation Day. It does this by giving away free 7.11 ounce Slurpees to their loyal following. Heresy! You don't know what a Slurpee is? Here's your tutorial and be glad that I can't tase you bro, right through your keyboard. A Slurpee is all that's magical next to the laundry mat that claims your morning in the blistering sun. A Slurpee is all that's right after your little one drops the fly ball that would have defeated Ace Hardware's Little League team. A Slurpee is how you end a long day of furniture shopping in the San Fernando Valley furnace heat. This is an oasis this Slurpee. To hear that a major company is giving away it's crown jewel just to say thanks is pretty neat. It rallies the troops to visit.

One might believe this to be a clever marketing ruse to get you in the doors and bamboozle you into taking a hot dog home for seventeen fifty, but dear readers, this is not Scientology. Hot dog taking and bamboozling aside, Seven Eleven wants their patrons to know how much they appreciate their business and to say "Thank You". Have you ever heard of such a thing? This tradition began in 2002 when the company was celebrating it's 75Th birthday and with such response, continued the tradition. Now it would be crazy to mass market something of this nature as every Tom, Dick, and Thirsty would overrun the city, so leaving it to 'word of mouth' has created a phenomena. I would compare the feeling of this unofficial holiday to that of International Talk Like A Pirate Day or even Melonball Thursday. A grassroots movement that is based in generosity, what could be more beautiful?

It has created a following that looks forward to this day each year. My only hope is that the sanctity of it remains unblemished. I mean look what happened to Burning Man, Key West and Ed Hardy. Too much scum and not enough pond. I hope you were able to get yourself a freebie and a smile this past 7.11, at Seven Eleven, with a 7.11 ounce Slurpee it makes summer smile, really. And keep in mind the new exciting flavor coming soon......Black Ice; it's a slushy version of the carbonated energy drink Monster that is in most Angelenos hands nowadays. Add a pink straw and your homefree.

Bull!

The Running Of The Bulls takes place in Spain and some southern towns in France on July 6-14th. It is during the festival of San Frermin. This offering was to beseech the blessing of Saint Fermin for the townships. The festival was made passionate with this demonstration of bravado. The most famous of these events takes place in Pamplona, Spain where today the first day of the bull run began. The Encierro (from spanish v. encierrer for to shut in or lock up) is a well documented media byte that always catches my eye. I can think of so many better things I could be doing at that moment. Flossing, poaching, watering, shaving, nairing anything butt. (He said 'butt')Though most attention has been on the Pamplona Encierro historical records show the run dates as far back as 1215. Steeped in tradition, history hasn't trampled encierro's importance.

The Encierro begins on the 7Th and continues for the next seven days, each day at 8:oo am. (again why be up that early) The ground rules are simple to participate: The runners must be over 18 to run, they must me not under the influence of alcohol and are forbidden to run in the opposite direction. This kills me. And I'm sure many of the runners. If your internal GPS is so under the influence of sangria or immaturity that you can't but help charge into a herd of oxen, I suppose there's a reason that your father gave you the day off from the carnicerria. Charge on mi amigo. Rapido. Tradition also asks that the runners wear white with red kerchiefs and sashes. The red will appeal to the bull's sense of fashion/gore and will bring the level of intensity to that of the final two episodes of Project Runway. Runners also may carry a rolled up newspaper to keep the bulls attention. Maybe bulls would be happier with the op-ed page, do they really need to get the information right across the pierced nose. Come to think of it that's how most American high school students have to get their education. Maybe somethings steeped in tradition are relevant today.

I'm thinking of redesigning the whole tradition and keeping it veal, I mean real. I'm thinking of making it much more cazsh (casual). It would be, Bull Durham, CT. The participants will be aged Realtors with flaxen hair pulled back with a red ribbon. They will be in white convertible SAAB's with their Blackberrys in their hands, to replace the newspaper. The encierro will be replaced with Route 81, a lazy road that winds adjacent to the highway Rte. 9 South that connects the Shoreline with center of the state. We won't use wooden planks but we will use State Troopers with tasers to keep the bulls on Route 81. In Bull Durham CT, the oxen are given meth (popular in the woods of CT) and shown pictures of Trish Walsh-Smith (the crazy divorce lady from YouTube) and then prodded to run. The realtors will remind the oxen of the photo stimuli and thus commence the real test of wills; a methed-out bull vs a bad market stressed realtor who's late for an appointment. The challenge is is that the road is narrow and passing will be tough. Let's see who's hide is thicker, and who has meat for dinner.

I really don't think these things through. They just come to me in visions.

July 4th

To some people The Fourth Of July is a bad movie with Tom Cruise. To some it's an excuse to clean out their fridge. For some people, it's a national holiday and reason to barbeque and see family. Whatever your reason is today to celebrate the fourth, I hope you mark it well and surround yourselves with the best. I've done my fridge and now I'm off to surround myself with the very best fish.

Peace!

Here's some magic for you.

Today is 2 nd of July which means in a non-leap year, this is the middle day of the year. Day 183 with 182 more to come. Isn't that magical? I'm always pessimistic in terms of calendar time. I don't even realize June is gone before it is, and then when July comes I get all jaded because it's the seventh month and I have to mourn the first half of the year. Maybe that's me. I freak on strange things like that. But now that I know it's the middle day, I can take it a bit easier.



And more magic, today in history Vermont became the first US territory to abolish slavery. I noticed this because of two interesting facts. The year was 1777 and there were all my favorite numbers together. I'm always attracted to the shiny things whether it be texture or numerical. The mathematical magpie in me. And secondly it goes to show you how forward thinking those hill people can be. It gets cold in the winter, so they have plenty of time to think deep thoughts until the cable goes back on. I just think it incredible that Vermont was there first even before The Revolutionary War had completed and The Civil War hadn't even begun. Maybe they didn't need the slaves because they had plenty of children to delegate work to. It gets cold in the winter. Whatever the reason, that's magic there. Also in Vermont's corner don't forget they've given us civil unions, Howard Dean, and maple syrup. How sweet it is.

Rabbit, rabbit

Here we are again. Another month of merriment and mastercards. My hope's that we all have a safe holiday and a great summer. Please don't hold the M-80's over the baby carriage, lace burns so easily. Remember fire cracker safety; Firing crackers requires wide open spaces and an audience. Then you can fire a cracker safely. This blog is the most important guide to etiquette since Hoyle or Miss Manners, you can't deny this.

The sebbeth of July is TBD as there are new games to be played for the rest of the year. People are expressing interest in joining onto the 4D-Train of Joy and Silliness. This one wants to eat sushi off the male model, this one wants the tatoo, this one wants a sperm sample, what's a Bonn vivant to do first? Hire an assistant would be a good start. The assistant would run the productive and creative side of my life while I could totally lose myself in Facebook. I've totally been swallowed. It's so much better than MySpace, there's alot less sleaze and more reindeer games to play. Where's that damn assistant with my espresso?? Fie!

We have lots to look forwards to: Independence Day, Bastille Day, JC's BDay, Supermom's BDay (sebbeth bdays) and of course the blast that is a summer in CA. Tourism is like playing Whack-a-Mole at the fair. One pops up and you whack it for points and rapidly hit the next to better your score. There might be a more passive image I could have used but, Whack-a-Mole is satisfying on several levels. Rabbit, rabbit, here's to a great summer.

Dave and Liz.

If you haven't already heard the story of the Dave and Liz, cop a squat, expel all old gas and say, 'cheese'.

Dave and Liz approached me to officiate their June wedding. They had been referred by Meredith the Catering Director and local blogger up at the Malibou Lake Club. We met and were instantly charmed by one another. Liz was simply dressed and elegant in her beauty, Dave was well spoken indie kind of guy. Liz then proceeded to grill me on what was going to happen, how the ceremony would evolve, is there a back-up plan, how long had I been doing this, what special things we could do to involve the families, would it still be personal to them. She worked me pretty good this tiny little angel with the enormous "Big Book of Brides"; some sort of tome to tame time. She finally got to her bullet points, which I handled well and thought at this point we'd covered all the bases. We'd discussed tone, length, humor and heritage (Dave's Scottish) and got a good temp on the ceremony. The bride closes her book, piles her papers together, and slides the mass to the side. She folds her hands in front of her and looks me squarely and says:

Liz: I've saved this for last because this is the most important thing we want to ask you.

Tony: (Gulps) Sure, go ahead.

Liz: Since we'll be uniting with Dave's Family's Clan tartan...............Will you wear the kilt?

Tony: (Jaw on table, quickly tries to recover cool) Ummm........Sure?!

Liz: Ha Ha!! Fooled ya!

Dave: (High fives Liz) Good one hun, I didn't see that one coming.

She played me. She played me like she owned me. Well she kind of does now. She had me good.

Mind you during the interview we were trying to be cool as these sparrows were dive bombing us. One had a lock of Liz hair and another nearly blinded me. The day of their wedding Nature let us know that they were a part of this day too. Bees were swarming us during the vows. I told the happy couple to play it safe on their anniversaries lest the frogs fall from the sky like in Magnolia. It was a day.

I have two cute photos of them here. One sweet kissing, the other is what I call The Money Shot. It's one only the minister can take, and only for the couples with a sense of humor.

Banner News.

Gilbert Baker will be the Grand Marshall at this year's 38th annual NYC Pride Parade. Whom may you ask is Gilbert Baker? Why only the Gay Community's Betsy Ross. 30 years ago Mr Baker brought about an eight striped flag to show solidarity and acceptance of the diversity in the LGBT Community. The flag was simplified to six stripes some years later.

As one who has worn it as a tshirt, bumper sticker, umbrella, lapel pin, bathing suit, cummerbund/ascot, and cape I can't even tell you how proud it makes me to see our banner waving and feel the sense that we're one big family in the community. Thanks Mr Baker, and Happy Pride!!!!!

Apropos.

And funny considering the state of the nation.

Rabbit, rabbit.

If you don't know yet, I'm in the caribbean at Darren's wedding. I'm in Anguilla and I keep saying it wrong. An GWILL uh. I'm attending my first Destination Wedding. A DW is one of the most demanding favors to ask of your friends and family. "Hi, will you please go in to debt so that we may be cherished and adored in some exotic localle. PS we'll be expecting a little something from Crate and Barrell, tambien." "Mahalo, Bro." The DW was created by a vengeful event coordinator who was jilted at the altar. Only such a shrew would conceive of moving your loved ones to another part of the world, one that they more than likely will never return to, so that your vows may be exchanged. I want to see an episode of extreme weddings. I'm thinking paintball or landmines or something like that. I'm pulling your tin cans, this was an incredible event. I wouldn't have done anything differently.

The trip down was almost twelve hours. I was drugged and drooling but on the right side of the gate. The night before I left I couldn't sleep I was soo excited, so it made sense that I slept the way here. As you can see the view from my beach chair is pretty rad. I'll publish all the photos proper when I get back state side. That's fun to say. State side. The wedding has been an amazing event with more laughs than a convent with waxed floors. You heard me. They made incredible couple in a ceremony so special words barely describe. The church was open air kind of, cinder blocks and chicken wire made for a breezy easy feasty. The wedding began with our eyes straining to the doorway, waiting for the bride. A small child in pink dress, I think the church coordinator's daughter was lolly gagging there, unknowing. From outside the church Mom's massive arm pounced and yanked the daughter onto the sidelines out of the frame and almost out of the little girls sandles. Comedy and big laughs ensued. And hey, Zoe! You know how our laughs can be the cause of spectacle? Well, catch this one sister. During the ceremony the priest was about to bestow the church's blessing on the newly annointed couple when at the moment he was pronnouncing it a semi went by and blew it's horn. The timing impecible, I launched a big, "Huh, hah hah hah," of large decibles. It was chaos as the church rocked with laughter in response to it all. You above all will appreciate that.

I've known Darren for years now, but the wife and I have existed in the shadows to each other. I guess in my illustrious past, I'd met his wife, but don't recall. She's freaking beautiful and funny to boot. I shit you not. Seacrest (Darren) is a sardonic little bastard, with charm and looks to raise the dead. He was metro before Beckham, and in his own mind, a gay icon. How he got so lucky is beyond me. They light up each other's eyes and you really can't ask for much more. The celebration continued through the night at the Cuisinart Resort. Great food, good times and lot's of dancing. Innevitably the groom was thrown in the pool, clutching his cuban cigar. You know the drill, go big or go home. Actually we're doing it both. I can't wait to see my Amex bill. In the pix you'll see me with Amber , a groomsman's wife, and dancing with my new bff Chad and lady friend. Sandee. Congrats Seacrest and AM, If this is the launch, the flight will be tremendous.

Here's the complete gallery.

Darren's Wedding.

The second coming of Ryan Seacrest ties the noose/knot this weekend in Anguilla, BWI. I had to google it before I even rsvp'd. So y'all are going to be on your own for sundays 'Rabbit Rabbit' remember to say it and play it loud. We all can use the luck.

Memorial Day.

Memorial Day, the beginning of the Harvest. One might think that this occurs in the fall but if you're a waitron/server in the industry you understand the importance of the ten weeks between June and August. The harvest is actually the summer where you suffer worse than the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. You smile sweetly and track how low the dollar will go as the foreign clientelle continues to darken your doorstep. You witness human behaviors that would shock the monkeyhouse at the zoo. You rationalize post office episodes. You plan escapes and assassinations. Horrors will occur, nightmares will ensue but we put our heads down and work our tails off. There will be rest in September, and maybe even holidays in November but for now it's time to catch the olives falling from shaking trees. It's harvest time.

Happy Memorial to everyone who has kept our country safe over the years, and to all who have made the ultimate sacrifice. We get to do what we do because of you. I hope your day finds you a nice cold whatever and the love and respect you are due.

80 to 1.

Not odds, not odd at all. The Celebration Superhighway has more juice to go this weekend; The Landlady's 8oth birthday and three nephews' 1st birthdays! I'll elaborate............


My new building of one year is owned by a character. A woman of eighty, she's the sibling to eight. She's married four times, as they keep dying "underneath her" she tells me, she runs a tight ship. At her directives, and the support of backstage cast of patient patients, she's created an serene, homelike environment. The building is amazing with it's topiary, bubbling fountain, matching everything, plants, lazy sleeping cat. It has a pool and very clean garage, too clean sometimes for my dirty truck (sorry, between paying for a car wash and a full tank of gas...) The building has a sense of Barbary Lane, with a little Melrose Place, and of course The Golden Girls. The sense of community is enormous, and so's the sense of pride. It's very family like and private when it needs to be. Tempers flare occasionally but inevitably resolve. This is my new home. The Landlady makes for good stories. She interviewed me on many levels when I first came a calling. Financially, personally, socially, she wanted to make sure I'd fit. I passed. I knew I was being tested and it was at a time I was not wanting to be, but went with my gut. "I'm going to live in that place with the animal/shrubs." "Let's see what this woman is all about," I'd think to myself. I got my keys and entered into my new life. I owe Ginnie the price of admission, but I'd like to think I've provided a couple of great new attractions in this amusement park. Here are some pix of her party.


My nephew (blood) Colin was born on the eighteenth of last year. May was a very tumultuous month last year. My best friend out here got engaged, my sister gave birth and I ended a ten year relationship that had been my base. Everything hit the fan, and settles as we speak. My sister had tried hard to have a third child in her family and was rewarded with the most beautiful boy in the world. I mean it and have the photos to prove it. Hard work is soooo paid off. I believe this. The side joke in the Family, as there always is one, was whoever was able to guess the date of the birth of the expectant prince would get the 'pot'. Cash was irrelevant at this time in my life, I had just dropped a ton of coin to rebuild my life, I wanted legacy; let the prize be the name. She had decided that the middle name would be Adam, after our grandfather and the first was undecided. I begged her to let me name him Sam. As his full initials would spell out his first name i.e. S.A.M., I thought that would be FIERCE. She would have nothing of this plan, thinking that it would be appalling to name her child Sam Adam(s). She wouldn't have her prince the but of beer jokes. Maybe she couldn't own up to the fact the baby was born under a veil of beer why not document it? Either way, I didn't get the name or the cash. My family.............anyway, Colin is One and beautiful.

My other nephews(non blood) were born on the 27th. Let me explain. I started my life on the west coast (is it one word yet?) in 2001 with a series of small jobs. As the dust settled I searched for a job that I vowed would be "The Last Restaurant I Would Ever Work In Before I Was Successful In The Industry". That's a mouthful, I know. But I meant it. I was determined that I would cultivate a healthy relationship with a restaurant that would negate all the bad ones' prior. I would lay down the law, the sword and the bullshit; all intermittently. I met Robin Hood at this time. You can track him down on my other blog for some history. But Rob and I had each other's backs at 'hello'. It's amazing what the east coast breeds. Oh, now I remember, class. Rob and his lady Kris asked me to marry them, and we did. A most beautiful day. And then we watched their lives grow towards kids. And it did. They had a hell of time getting there, but they did (side note, I was living with them, sitting in our living room at the time, when they got the word from fertility Doctor Hatch-no lie-that they were pg). The pregnancy was met with adversity and lots of prayer. Lots of soup and lots of love went into this birth, it took a village this time around. When I held these two little preemies in my hand I couldn't believe how small Life could be, and how big at the same moment. My friends, the parents, were beyond exhausted at this point, but had achieved the most incredible goal I've yet to witness firsthand. These babies were slightly bigger than corn cobs when we met. Today I got to see them with fifty two weeks under there soon to be Prada belts. Amazing. The only atrocity involved was how I had to see them. Goofy's Kitchen. I can't say any more as it was tough. The lengths we go to for friends.

There's many things to celebrate every month just heading towards December, I feel like we're just filling in the spaces of some karmic bingo card. I will cover all the spaces, I don't even need to win, as long as I'm in the running.


PS My family could send more pictures. I wouldn't mind it.

Sebbeth Heaven.

The Sebbeth this month wil be a tribute of sorts. Darren and AnnMarie will tie the knot in Anguilla, BWI. Never before invited to a wedding in the Carribean, I rsvp'd promptly. Those who know me know I am no good at prompt response. Prompt response. Prompt response. Animanipia. Tangent. The dense gaul of my fine friend to enslave friends and family to come to this Extreme Wedding Edition is ginormous but the fact that there was no return postage provided on the response card was beyond. It really was the turd olive in the urine martini. Maybe that's harsh. It's raining and I'm surly.

Prompt response. Prompt response. So I've bought the madras plaid, the linen clam diggers and the sunscreen. I celebrate my road to forty in a tribute to love. Love that makes you cross continents and credit cards. Love of a man from New Orleans and an Italian princess. Darren and I met at a mutual friends birthday party five years ago. Darren used to babysit my co-workers at a little irish pub in Santa Monica after their shifts. He's now gone legit and babysitting people's bigger money. When we met, we had heard much of each other. He had just come from a wedding of a stranger and his date was lost at the party. I had decided to go out and be social for a change. The mutual admiration society was made that night. My rye friend is quite the metrosexual and to find this little 'playa' settling down, I'm beholden. So off to Anguilla (just learned how to say it, an-GEE-uh) to a destination wedding. Sounds like heaven, smells like cocoa butter.

Prompt response.

The Portrait of Dorian Grey.

I'm waiting for the sedative to take flight as I've had me a fright. I'm racing towards forty and there's something I need to get off my chest. A grey hair.

I saw this happen on a "Will and Grace" but really didn't know what to do. They used it as a side gag. I was sideways gagging. When I came out of the shower this morning I noticed that my manly chest pate had one white knight in the forest. A grey hair was there. That ain't cool. That ain't going to sell it when you're shirtless at a Gay Pride. What exactly is this indicative of? Oblivion? I was non plussed. I went bald with a fair amount of grace. I shaved my head in the surrender to the only recession anyone will admit to. And I have also cleverly admired the hints of salt and pepper that have come around on my head. I was not prepared for the grey hair.

I fell to the floor, I tend to do this a lot in dramatic effect, comedic timing and too much tequila. I put my hands on my face and pleaded with my vanity (both). "Please tell me that my dance isn't over", "Show me a sign that this will all work out. " As you know, my crazy side gets the better of me on occasion, and the vain side of me is more than skin deep, it's in my veins (yuk, yuk) I pulled out the clippers, as you know a shaved head and a set of balls is de regeur now a days. I was just about to manscape my chest when a little voice said, "I'm the only one here. If you eliminate me now, I'm just going to come back with more friends. Why not make me comfortable here and not see things so black and white. " The little voice then reminded me of my superior pectorals and other attributes, then faded into a Chaka Khan Medley involving, "I'm Every Woman". The clippers went back into the drawer and the chest hair got a little juzge; a little fluffing if you will.

That old grey hair just ain't what it used to be. I can accept it, Life has taught me patience. I'd rather show patience than be a patient. It's actually kind of Tom Selleck-y. I almost plucked it, where was my head? Oh, thinning, that's right.

David and Dominique's Luau Shower. (food by me)

Cinco De Mayo.

Holiday based in history as a military victory in Mexico, a full on excuse for people to relive Saint Patrick's day with more color options, more food options, and less class. The boozefest for all intensive purposes should be called Gringos De Mayo as the mexican people really don't celebrate the holiday full on. I hear it's like that in Ireland.

Countess and Pool Boy Slide right in.

Rabbit, Rabbit.

The twelve days are going pretty quietly as a whole celebration. This is fine by me, don't get me wrong, whatever the universe gives me is cool by me. Granted I've had my typical LA day, failed the Notary exam (useless) and been thwarted by large swells to delay entering K-Dog's Hogwart's of Surfing Academy for fledgling Bra's. But to gain a surfboard from Girl P and her husband Mike, travel to Italy with the Countess to go to the BWI this coming month. I ain't bitching by any means, I'm just curious if forty will just be another number or if the Secrets Of The Ancients will be revealed to me one by one.

-Curious in Cali.

However Madonna's new album has me tapping my toes...................................

Ladies and Gentlemen; Frannell

My Frannell, the fabric of my life. Thanks to the guest blogging and my, you've straightened up the place nicely.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen, I have returned and even thought as much to bring my aunt home with me. We had a ginormous time in Sicily and to celebrate the sebbeth I was in Taormina making a significant donation to the local ceramics industry. FedEx willing I'll see it next week. I fell in love with Taormina and will share some pix with your shortly, laundry is calling

Love to all and malice towards some.

Hooters and Home Depot

I am not sure I know what to write on this here blog.  I originally thought that this blog was created as a testament to the year of our Spats turning the big 4-0.  That as the year progressed, he would do something once a month in honor of the occasion. 

I will say that in honor of my friend turning 40 this year, I am going to share with you something I learned recently.

I travel all over this great country bringing joy to the masses.  One week I might be in LA, another week I am in Boise.  There are two things that bind us all together.  North and South. East and West.  It is two places that in every city in America you can find Sanctuary.  It is the only fact that is true of Ft. Worth TX and Washington DC.

Hooters and Home Depot.

You will find both of those establishments in every single city in America, and while I don't frequent either of them.  (In all honesty I went to Hooters for the first time two weeks ago to get a gift certificate for a friend) I find comfort in seeing their signs from the highway as we pull into town.  It is kind of like being in a strange place and running into a relative you hate at the grocery store.  Comforting.

yes, I am a woman.  I should have a problem with Hooters, but I hear the wings are great, so who am I to judge.  I just wish there was another equally as comforting a place called BALLS.

Well that wouldn't work.  Men love boobs.  Most women just tolerate Balls.  So it would called BROAD SHOULDERS.

Yes the female equivalent would be Broad Shoulders.

What would be the female Home Depot???  Hmmm.  I am open to suggestion.  I actually love Home Depot, but it does lose me after a time. This is not to say I am a home improvement moron.  I am/am not.  Ok I am.  I am a home improvement moron, but I could make you a pair of earrings UNPARALLELED by any dude who could fix your house.  And Not for Nothing but the Home Depot blows Lowes out of the water.  The selection for dowel screws completely sucks at Lowes.  They had only three sizes.  Ridiculous.

Honestly, I have no idea.  I was with my boss today at Lowes and he was picking out screws and hardware and I was looking at ceramic sink bowls and dreaming of my log cabin house on the north face of Mt Hood outside Portland (my dream which doesn't exist)(yet)  He was bitching and moaning about the selection.  I was yawning.

BUT

My point is there is no female equivalent of Home Depot because it is ambisexual. (  Is that a word??)  No matter what, I did think of Tony.  Tony would appreciate my comfort in seeing Hooters and Home Depot.  And that is saying something, cuz not everyone would.

I miss Tony.

I really do.

Admit it...you do too.

-GirlFran-

Post script.

GirlFran will tell you that blogspot bites sometimes, if the HTML is screwy please click on the title of the post, or toggle the elevator tool to shake the snowglobe that appears to be my blog. This will help you read our genius. Sheesh.

Ciao! Blogsitter!

As elluded to over the past two weeks Auntie Goosey and I have decided (against popular opinion and
mundane restraining orders) to re-embark on international goodwill spreading. We did a similar trip
in 1999, and labelled it "The Countess and The Pool Boy" Tour. We came home with great memories,
expensive leather goods, and double pneumonia. After joint hospitalization and recovery we made a
secret pact that we would do this again. The time has come. Sicily, Beware!
We are much more responsible now, and commitments must be met. Lucy has yet another toy poodle
and similarly I have my two blogs. She's kenneled her anchor, and I have Frannelled mine.
'Frannelled' you may ask? This is my guest blogger for as long as she wishes. She may even have to
write the obituary (God Forbid) for humor's sake. Fran and I met in Newport, RI and fell madly in
love, alright, we fell madly in a stupor of our own creation. Her talents are legendary and her ability
to sniff out cool scenes and fab people, even greater. She'll tell you all in her own blog, if you wish,
ask her for invite. There's always room. She may share grand stories from back in the day and may
relay reports from the reunion tour of The Countess and The Pool Boy. Mind you this is in between
cities and sticking her hand up a puppet's ass. Fran's currently a puppet wrangler on the National
Tour of 'Avenue Q". Without further ado, I present
Frannellannellannellannellannellannellannellannellannellannellannell.

"Vittorio, is that the Countess and the Pool Boy?"

The Countess and The Pool Boy.

"God I hope she doesn't fall down those stairs, " he prayed watching the aunt of a lifetime traverse the Florentine bookstore's entryway. "She better not take another shitter like she did the last time in Venice. " His aunt's grace was legendary. Her last time in Italy brought her home with a broken wing and a little dust on her bravada. The rumor was that she had one to many negroni's and the gin made her spin. "Yeah, Spin and Martini, from the Mickey Mouse club. I'll have to file that image away for a story sometime in some bar."

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his favorite fleece. He had fleeced the fleece from a niece, no actually from his favorite sister Sal a special Christmas two years prior. She hadn't even had the box open a minute before he swooped in and adorned his self entitled self with her gift. She knew in the instant that she would never wear that jacket. The light rain of Florence didn't bother him from enjoying his smoke. He hid behind a lamp post, in his dark sunglasses and watched his little bird shop her way around the store. It was ripe with leather bound tomes, beautiful parchments and lithographs from days gone by. It was exactly the type of place (of type) that he hoped they would find together. Three days from now they would be in Venice and then two days more they'd be back in the States, they would have this adventure behind them. On to the next!

A pack of tourist began pestering him for directions in some sort of Nipponese Neapolitan. It seemed only fitting that he exhale a ring of smoke at the tallest of the bunch and give them direcitons in self designed Span-Italian. He had created this language out of high school Spanish and years of working in restaurant's projected kitchen Italian. They were most appreciative and he flicked his extinguished butt towards the smallest of the retreating posse. He prided himself on the trip that he and his seventy something aunt were on. She never married but was witness to the raising of six siblings in her brother's house. Granted she went squirrely sometimes with opinions that were laced with crazy. It as like she had multiple lives and the overlapping of them confused her opinions. At one time she could be as straight as a novice, and another time she's hopping out a window to catch a train to NYC. Her and those trains. She was heavy into planning her next adventure with the 'Girls' to the Orient Express. She rolls with the ladies who lunch and their sect was going abroad next fall on the luxury train. Broad. Have to file that one away as well. Where was she now?

She was so concerned that she was going to be a hindrance but he welcomed this lady on his arm with all of her explosive conversation and fluctuating opinions. They had had some riled conversations on their first night in Rome. At the second seating for dinner, she had been charming the maitre d' while he had been flirting with the waiter, just innocent. But over espresso and sambucca it was made clear that she would get the room if she got lucky and the nephew would have to find other accommodations. Such nerve age brings. I asked if the sign to sleep elsewhere would be support hose around the door knob? She said a necktie would work. She was Old School.

She exited the store and convinced him to find a cafe. He reenacted his recent lesson in international relations with the lost tourists and they walked towards The Duomo. She always laughed at his stories and offered strange advice. But sometimes she was right on. We can learn so much if we just listen. So much about ourselves. The rain had stopped, he was glad not to see that crazy rain bonnet come out of it's hiding place. It's waxy origami shape always looked disturbing on her and he couldn't help but think of small children playing with dry cleaning bags. He wasn't well. His imagination sometimes got the best of him and he wold just expound into tangents of bizarrely mid conversation. It was always better with caffeine though, he smiled. He was going to have a nice doppio. He noticed she sneered at the cappuccino maker (man not machine) before they took their seats. "Here we go again, making friends as she goes. The bird's a tough broad."

There trip was special, they were to see Tuscany, Rome, Venice and such. It was initially to be for a wedding in Sicily, but she had gotten the daters wrong. They salvaged a trip out of it anyway. They were an odd pair to be travelling, one fruitier than the next. They found the same things funny and could tell a great story. He was thrilled to have this time with her and hoped for more adventures. It was a great moment. She asked what these people thought when they looked at them. Their opinion didn't matter a bit. He'd been through plenty in his life where he didn't care for what people thought. Once in a while he'd obtain respected council from good friends, but strangers? Screw them. He noted that she still had a look of concern on her face. He decided a little humor would alleviate her escalating stress. He lit a smoke.

"Maybe when they look at us they say, 'There goes the Countess and the Pool boy,' he cracked himself up, almost knocking his espresso over. "How's that?" She finished her Sambucca and agreed that would work. For whatever reason.

One Brave Chick.

I've been inspired by many, many people in my life. I've had teachers that were so amazing back in the day that are even better today, thirty odd years later. Teachers that now teach my nephew and neices. I've had teachers at the college level that didn't even last the semester without a breakdown. But maybe that comes with Drama School. I've worked for people that inspired me. I was bussing and stopped to pick something up off the floor and the owner thanked me in such a sincere manner that I learned how you should take care of your staff. Small restaurants can really teach you about people and character. Oh, and the ability to think on your feet will come in handy later in life. I've been inspired by many friends and several not so friends. I may not have always met eye to eye with some people, I have found that their opinions due matter, it speaks from their beliefs and those should be treated with respect.

In hearing other people's stories you can learn about yourself. I learn where I've come from as a person and who I'm growing into being as an 'adult'. It's definately all about process in my mentallity, not about result. I'll get where I'm going and I'll get there by reading the signs around me. I love to read and could easily become a bloggaddict, oh how far am now with two tomes of silliness to spout on. Different people's experience can really open you up. I'm now in a fascination period with an source of courage;

One Brave Chick

The testimonies of these five women speak volumes. Through so much adversity each one tells of their ability to hold their ground, lift their head and face whatever's next. Who says that isn't useful in today's day and age? It's refreshing to hear other people's stories and listen without the prejudice of ego. Your bought of malaria does not equal one's loss of a child does not equal one's OCD and so on. People are so compulsory in conversation that they have to hijack it back to themselves (This happens alot in Los Angeles) overthinking that their experience relates exactly to what was just shared. This really isn't the case. If people want to learn, they need to share, listen and learn. You really can't learn with ears closed.

If you need a little jumpstart in the bravery department, find some great juice in their network. It's mandatory reading for those in the relentless search for improvement.

I love their motto: be real, be brave, be YOU.

Monkey, monkey. April Fools. Rabbit, rabbit.

Catch this. I tripped over my words this morning and actually monkey monkey'd when I was supposed to rabbit, rabbit. Has anyone else had such a problem?

Everyone knows this is one of the most basic incantations, and I've blown it. I'm only hoping that the April's Fool's karma adjusts it.

I should probably just go to bed now and put my head under the covers. Actually just started reading "Love In The Age Of Cholera" and it stops me from going running and stay in bed like a slug. Good book, get comfy and read it.

The Countess and The Pool Boy Tour is coming, get ready.

March 28, 1968

Uno and Due Spatafora tied the knot on this day, exactly forty years ago. Him, the charming widower with the four kids, Her, the nutty career woman from an enormous family in MA. Little has changed, with the exception of what they brought home from Vegas (Me). I'm sure there have been times that it would have been simpler to bring home a t-shirt or an ashtray, but I'm still here (does best Elaine Stritch). It's a pretty amazing story, finding love so amazing twice in my father's case, and in my Ma's late thirties. Neat how things happen.

My yogi cousin Peter has told me that my spirit has been around this block once or twice, maybe even 17 times. He's told me that I'm as old as Atlantis in my soul, a fact I firmly believe too. However I still can't deny that my arrival to this existence, through Las Vegas, is karmedy.(Karma/Comedy)

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY UNO AND DUE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Melonball Thursday.

Now the joy of a holiday is found in the traditions. Hanging of the wreath, carving of the pumpkin, burning down of the shed. We appreciate the holiday that much more through repitition, let's just keep beating that pinata (dead horse) until the candy falls down and makes everything sweet. Melonball Thursday is no exception.

The Unofficial Holiday celebrating Silliness has been in existance for twenty odd years. It's innocent and humble beginnings have endured the test of time due to it's traditions. The thursday before Easter must be appreciated with silly tales, melonball cocktails, melonball shots and/or melonballs themselves. Like a wise girl in my highschool year book said in her quote, "I graduated just to be silly." Some much of life can be missed if we don't stop and laugh about the flight we just slept through, or the puddle we fell in, or how that silly identity theft blew over in three years.

Here are the photos I've collected over the last couple of years. They're all precious in their own way but V's girl Gianna steals the show. Thanks to all forr their pix, and GirlFran, forgive me, I don't know where I saved the series that you sent me last year. AAaaaaarrrrgggggghhhhh..

So Sue Me.

Sebbeth.

So the third Sebbeth is upon us and a grand play en-Sue'd. My dearest and most steadfast friend in the world is Suzy Q, her identity changed to avoid the paparazzi. We've known each other since the summer of '87 as a pair of reckless bon vivants with a taste for the good life. "Oh, to be young and independently wealthy," was frequently our battle cry as we would lunch or shop or cocktail. Or all three. We enslaved American Express as our back-up singers and vowed to hit Platinum status as a race, Suzy won, but it was close. We competed in suntan degree of darkness by the Cape vacation, to the winner goes the champagne. We've seen funerals, weddings, baptisms, hurricanes, holidays, hemlines, stripteases, booze, blow, boys, food so good we'd photograph it, divorces, dips, shakey suspension bridges, videos, Val, val, pasta, ex's, melonballs, (hee hee, he said 'balls') apple pies, and we've seen each other through hells. There is none better than this cutie in the sweater.

My point, and I do have one, is that Suzy is turning 40 afore me and it's soon. She wasn't going to be able to celebrate proper like, so our friends H, Crazy Indian, and Supermom decide to shanghai Suzy to NYC for St Patrick's Day. Well the stars were in alignment with NYC, St Pats, Sebbeth and my Suzy; I decided to fly in for the weekend to worship my friend. And we were well rewarded. With H as my point person, Suzy was deceived to take the day (and the next) off. She was picked up H and to be driven to New Haven where they would take the train. On the way however, they encountered an odd hitchhiker enroute to NYC himself and stopped to examine the sentinel. Suzy was confused as to this being the village idiot long spoken of or a designer axe-murderer. She had no idea that it was me, or that there was any kind of conspiracy in her honor. Yep. Happy Birthday Darlin'!!!!!!

We gathered and commuted into the City, picking up trash as we went. No, not community service, train stops on the way to NYC kept letting revelers of St. Pats on to our party train. I was confused because I thought that the pope had given celebrants the day off for Holy Week, confuse-me? Stepping out from Grand Central I was reminded as to how cold the East could be. We hightailed it into cabs to make it to the Carnegie Deli but couldn't get past the parade without difficulties. We walked the ways, tripping over Buffalo Bill's former QB Jim Kelly and got right into the packed deli. Corned beef and cabbage anyone? Crazy Indian tried to eat a sandwich larger than his head. The beers were close by, literally the cooler was within arm's reach and the pickles............don't get me started. We began the bar crawl making our way to the finest indian restaurant in the city, Diwan. Oh. My. God. We really didn't deny ourselves anything that day.

And that's how we roll, Suzy Q and I; in fun company, impecible fashion, trendy hotspots and arm and arm. I'm freaking blessed.

St Pat or Melonballmania, catch 'em both if you dare.

Feeling green and not in the least bit envious? Let me tell you what this means. In the springtime there are two important celebrations of renewal; St Patrick's Day on which we all become Irish, and Melonball Thursday on which we all celebrate silliness. Kermit the frog says "it ain't easy being green" but at one time or another we've all been easy for green.


It cracks me up that the Catholic corporation will give everyone wide sweeping special dispensation to break lent and eat meat sic. corned beef so as to keep Holy Week pure. They'll make these enormous wide sweeping edits and still not let women be priests. I digress. Their attempt to move the Saint's birthday to Friday before merely made this binge into a four day weekend. I imagine that the sebbeth of March will still be reveled as Saint Patrick's Day. It's traditionally celebrated with food, beer, green clothing and songs. I plan on doing all this in a secure location. Tune in to find out where....................



Melonball Thursday is this Thursday. Formerly known as Holy Thursday, MBT is the time of the year when we remember silliness is important in life. We celebrate it by telling tales of silliness with good friends or even total strangers. You also may ingest a melonball cocktail, shot or actual melonball. Remember to stop and smell the silly, and send me the fotos of your celebrating. They'll be posted here and at Spatagram.

No mu mus for Momma. Cabo, and bust.

In this extraordinary year, I've vowed to celebrate with style and aplomb, moderately. Also to laugh a lot, dance like nobody's watching and make sure my friends and family know how much I love them. Big Momma has always been a party to my verve and great friend. She also gave me my latest mix CD which I am playing into the ground (those poor neighbors). Big Momma wants to go to Cabo sans kids and hubby, she feels no guilt as she goes above and beyond for her family and their needs. But Big Momma is on to changing her frame and her name. She met with a trainer today who kicked her ass seventeen different ways from Sunday. The Nazi's name eludes me but it lit a fire under my friend. She declared when we go to Cabo, and we will go to Cabo, there will be no mu mus for momma. She scared me with her intensity. So much so that I grabbed my jumprope, my Madonna-packed mp3 player and gave my calfs a lift. No mu mus.

March On.

"Time marches on, and soon it's plain. You've won my heart and I've lost my brain. It's delightful, it's delicious, it's de-lovely." -Cole Porter

March is historically the most jammed pack of all the birthday months for me. Most of my family is in this month and a lot of the most important people in my life. It's crazyness I tell you. Crazyness.

As an update, KDog and I haven't been able to go out as the surf has been too big. Please don't think a tsunami is claiming Malibu, that aint the case. But all the surf trash has been extremely smug lately. I guess I'll understand someday, bro. (does shaka 'hang loose' gesture)Don't worry, it will happen.

I'm attaching a photo from the christening of Bob. Taken by Bubbles. That's Zoe trying to escape into the painting. She thought she'd be safer in Capri. The bday girl is just off to the left, with her man, scared by the amount there was to be eaten. I cooked for twenty instead of for seven. My bad. That's Jimmy and Nicole, very full. And mind you as you look at the table, this was after appetizers. Yes there was a lot of food, but it was Oscars, Shane's Bday and Bob's opening. The irony was that Blogger took forever to load the picture. I guess there was a lot of food.

I haven't eaten since.