My Funny Friend.

I have the coolest friend, and darn lucky to know him. This is what he does for a living. How cool is that? His salutations to me start with things like "Wild Chick!" and "Spamooshka!" A trusty soul, that Leo. Contact Leo if for any reason you ever need aerial or forensic photos of anything.
IdahoAirships.bmp

Good Morning, God.

'Twas a thunderjog this morning. It was cloudy and gray when I headed out at six, and as I rounded the bend at Hillcrest Park (between Yellowstone and Piedmont), a huge white-neon crag split the sky above me. I counted seven seconds before hearing, feeling really, the boom. I thought about conductivity and vulnerability for a moment, thought about turning around, then justified continuing on with the consideration that my chances of being hit by lightning were fewer than my chances of winning the lottery. Or is that the other way around. I recalled the recent headlines of the Southern preacher, standing in the pulpit, shaking his fist at heaven and shouting at God to show him some kind of sign, when at that very moment lightning struck the steeple of the church and electrocuted the man through his microphone. Well, he survived, and because Little Big Man is one of my favorite movies of all time, I went on jogging, thinking that today is a good day to die. Five more times lightning flashed as the thunder closed in and I huffed electrified air. I ran faster. Lightning is a good motivator, actually. The clouds were streaked with burn-marks, backlit by the awakening sun. Up on Piedmont Road, the roar of thunder accompanied the cheeping of crickets in the humid summer dawn, in a natural woofer vs. tweeter sort of soundoff.

Not Funny?

I'd like to declare an ocean of ingratitude to the person who put a half-torn, mostly-full packet of Equal back into the stack of unopened ones, so that when I picked it up and gave it a quick, hard flip-shake in order to get the powder to one side before opening, as people often habitually do, the powder exploded all over me, landing in my hair, eyes, down my shirt and all over the kitchen counter and floor. I swear. Some people.

Everlasting Hope.

I rarely get choked up over the passing of famous persons, but today I did. I loved Bob Hope so much, I feel like I knew him personally. He was just always there. Send the family an email to tell them how much you loved him too.

Variation on a Theme by Me.

Remember the recipe I shared with you a few weeks ago, "Cilantro With Pluots?" Here is a variation on that recipe tested tonight that turned out to be utterly fantastic. Stuff a roasted poblano pepper with a stirred-up combo of finely diced peaches, or mangoes if you like, along with some chopped cilantro and sliced green onion. (Salt optional.) I used white-fleshed freestones. Sweet, spicy, magnifico.

Hats Off.

I really have to high-five Adobe for changing (read: improving) my life. This amazing software allows me to instantaneously deliver electronic copies of documents to client and co-counsel. Were it not for pdf'ing the likes of anything and everything that comes in and goes out on a case, it might take days (the horror!) to distribute hard copies. Twenty years ago I envisioned a paperless office, in the early days of eight-inch floppies and OCR scanners. I recall commenting to my then-boss, Michael G. Ackerman (who may never know just how much I adored working for him) my vision, and he said, "I have two words for you: Never happen." Well Mikey, I'm the big shot in the instant information corner here and this is one time I can shout from the mountaintops, "I was right!" Doc distribution is a breeze, and everyone's in the loop. It's thrilling standing in my shoes, as far as my career goes!

On Fame and Familiarity.

If you are like me, you like things more before they've become ridiculously famous. Take Jennifer Lopez, for example. She is far too famous in comparison with her contributions. Don't get me wrong, I like her. I think she is a very sweet person. But her disproportionate over-famousness gets to me. I like stars more when they are still underdogs. As if I, as a fan, have contributed to their fame by spreading word about it/them/him/her. Once the world has caught on, the novelty vanishes and it/they/he/she is/are not so special any more. I maintain it is best to be un-famous, thereby retaining the specialness factor for as long as possible. Fitting fame is fine, of course, but too big is well, too much.

DirecTV: All Commercials, All The Time.

I have come to the uncomfortable realization that I pay $50.99 per month to be advertised to. It's really sad when the most exciting thing on television is Antiques Roadshow. Like The Boss sings, "Fifty-seven channels and nothing on."

Worry.

What in the world is preventing Shrub from taking into consideration that 20 years down the road, Saddam's GRANDsons will probably attempt to avenge the deaths of their fathers? This is all the tip of a very scary iceburg to me.

Terribly Wonderful.

I went to an awfully incredible concert yesterday, at Villa Montalvo, unfortunately on the hottest day of the year. It was intolerable. It was a three-act show: The Waifs, who were sublime. Barely made it through Dar Williams's set, and she's surely a rising star, but was in sheer suffering agony by the time the last act, Rosanne Cash, was to start. I was forced to leave, against my will, for the sake of my health. Good thing I didn't pay more than twenty bucks for my ticket. My face was red and shiny as a polished apple, not from sunburn because I was smart to bring a shady hat. No, the redness was from the heat exhaustion and sweat dehydration. I was soaking wet and unbearably uncomfortable. It was 98 degrees in the garden theater and I couldn't take it. At least I was able to buy the t-shirts.

Sticky Situation.

Friends, take my advice: don't ever, under any circumstances, warm honey in the microwave while it's still in the bear.

Metallica Are Stoopid.

These guys are clearly idiots of the first order. This lawsuit could not be more frivolous. Now they want the rights to own the chords E and F. If this does case winds up not getting dismissed, we're all in big trouble.

O Ye of Little Brains.

Pat Robertson is an embarrassment to the Christian community. I ask everyone to please pray for poor Pat Robertson, that he may be delivered from the demons of misguided stupidity and bassackardness from which he suffers terribly. Think about it -- does he really believe the Supreme Court advocates incest? For heaven's sake man, get a grip.

Three Degrees of Tomato Farming.

At the farmers market today I saw a man peddling tomatoes by acidity level: high, medium and low. I didn't get the whole scoop, I just overheard the guy hawking them as I cruised on by so I didn't catch the exact pH levels or anything. I noticed the low-acid tomatoes were more expensive. They were curious looking. I am guessing different acid levels may impart different flavors? Red bells smaller than a Roma but larger than a cherry. I went to Costco and bought a flat of 12 nice beefsteaks for $3.99 instead. The box does not indicate any acidity level.

A Recent Transaction.

We recently settled a case for a tidy sum. I was wild with money lust for five entire minutes. When I delivered the endorsed settlement check to our department chairman, he looked at the check amount, then looked up at me and said he was very glad I made it to his office in one piece. I don't think I'll ever forget that line. God, I love this job.

It Was A Very Good Gig.

I had the absolute best of audiences Sunday in San Gregorio. The place was relatively empty early on but later it started filling up. People come and go and I just play on, but more than once there was a good sized group, really listening and really applauding. Made me feel terrific. Validated. Of the 20 or so songs I played, I only made a couple of questionable clinks. Kept it real. One fan, a fiftyish white guy wearing an expensive motorcycle jacket, even came up to me and hugged me. Twice. Saying that people should never be afraid to say how they feel, and at that moment he felt I had the most beautiful voice, one which was perfectly fitting for such a beautiful day and his ride down along the coast. Validating, yes.

These moments of joy were brought to you and me by: Laura Westburg. Donna and Larry Spencer. Cathi and Perry Thoorsell. Rowland Evans. Abigail Linfert. Victor Snyders. Steve Key. Mom and Dad. And George Cattermole, the owner of the San Gregorio General Store, who is always nice enough to come around with a high sign or two indicating his approval. I guess that means I'm welcome back. I'll let you know.

Born to Be Wild.

Awesome shirt.

Accidentally Incredible.

I have discovered, quite by accident, two flavors that make tremendous magic together. Ladies and Gentlemen, my most recent contribution to California cuisine.

Cilantro With Pluots
(Earth and Sky)

Ingredients:
6 pluots (ripe but not overly so, well-chilled)
1/4 cup coarsely minced fresh cilantro
zest of lemon or lime

Slice-design 3 pluots into whimsical flower petal shapes (think daisies). Arrange in a design around the rim of a plate. Dice remaining pluots and stir in all but 1 tsp. of the cilantro. Spoon onto center of plate. Sprinkle remaining cilantro on top of pluot petals. Garnish with zest, and serve. {50 calories per serving; serves 2.}

This is me last Friday.

And this is me five minutes ago.

Next Order of Business.

When the Iraq 'weapons of mass destruction' conflict is a done deal, my hopes and prayers are that the next U.S. president will turn his or her attention to what's happening Africa. Approximately 3,000,000 human beings have been killed by these really bad, bad guys, which has just got to stop. Rwandan hutu rebels coming out of the Congo, and terrorizing Uganda. Why something hasn't already been done defies both logic and comprehension. At least they're looking at Liberia.

Things I Want.

John Mayer, Room for Squares.
Coldplay, the one with "Clocks" and "Scientist."
Bath Gift box set from Crabtree & Evelyn, "Sonoma" scent including bath gel and lotion.
A fine cabernet.
An MP3 player.
A good electronic keyboard.
And oh yeah. Peace on earth.