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So now that Sister Fi is officially on the grid as being avec screaming-infant-to-be, I can start posting my suggestions for a baby-friendly future. Step 1: NO DIAPERS! It worked with Violet, so I don't see why it couldn't work (sans leash and crate--that stuff gets you in trouble with babies, I hear) with humans. One step closer to the dream of having cute little pre-trained babies show up on your doorstep! Progress is grand.
So my nephew Andrew (visiting for a week, pictured with Fran, to the right) has taught me the secret to good health. It's all about a balanced diet that hits the five major food groups: cereal, chocolate, soda, burgers, and assorted pizza products. I'd credit youth with his ability to put that stuff away and remain at single-digit bodyfat, but that never worked for me. I'd go with genetics but, well, he's my nephew. Must be on his mom's side. Whatever the reason, it's damned impressive.
Yesterday was all about Hollywood tourism. Hollywood and Highland, Graumann's Chinese, the Hollywood sign, a trip to the High Voltage Tattoo shop from LA Ink, a Scientology HQ drive-by, Chinatown, and Superbad (which was great, btw) at the Vista, the best damn theater in LA. Good times. Today might be bikini-volleyball-watching at Huntington Beach, freak-watching at Venice, rich-white-asshat-watching in Santa Monica, and a pass through Beverly Hills and WeHo on the way back. More as it comes.
It's a stretch to say that everyone has something to offer the world, but you'd be dead-on if you said that no one can do everything. Moby will never be a professional wrestler. Werner Herzog will never work for Disney. Phoebe Cates.....well, OK. Phoebe Cates can do anything she wants. Touché.
Phoebe aside, we all have limits. As for me, I will never be a tailor.
My pal Adella? She bangs out things like this like it's nothing. So I figure I'll save myself some money and score some brownie points with my improv crew by making my own jester costume. I start with a simple tunic pattern and a bunch of grand ambitions. 5 hours later, I finish with a pile of tattered old shreds and a lighter wallet.
So after much browbeating, I bring myself down to Adele's (no relation to Adella, though I'm sure they'd have a lot in common), plunk down the cash I should have spent in the first place, and end up with a costume I couldn't have made in 6 weeks. Lesson du jour: When in doubt, pay someone else to do it.
So if you're a tailor who's about to write a white paper about proton therapy or Fibre Channel Storage Area Networks, stop right there and call me. I think we can barter.
Happy birthday, Sister Fi! I didn't have any birthday hat pics, but you live in Ireland, so I figure a green paper crown is pretty close.
About that crown. 15 of us went to Medieval Times last night, and much long-haired nancy-boy butt was kicked by our bad-assed Green Knight. We drank, he won, we drank more, he won more (coincidence?), and then the evil master of the long-haired nancy boys killed him at the victory ceremony, allowing the backup Geddy Lee reject to come save the day and win the cute-but-dumb princess' hand. We were robbed. You'll always be a winner in our hearts, Green Knight. And you'll always have the best haircut.