Without Permission.

I don't think Mr. Bush asked the female producer of the Letterman show beforehand if it was okay for him to wipe off his gross greasy glasses onto her expensive pashmina poncho. Watch the video, see for yourself. Check out the eyes as he looks around to see if any grownups are watching. Now tell me. Is this guy really mentally older than the age of six or seven? Most seven-year-olds would never consider doing something this dumb.

Undeniably Cool.

It is so cool living here, close to Moffett Field, in Mountain View, California. Especially if you are like me and dig watching military jets and those big behemoth C-5A carrier plans take off and do maneuvers and stuff. The noise they make when they fly over is keen.

So, get this. Last week, I got a real treat. You know where the interchange at westbound Highway 237 and northbound Highway 101 intersects right at Moffett Field? It was last Monday, the day after my teenage daughter fell in the backyard and busted up her chin. I was driving to work later than usual because I had to pick up a few things for her at the pharmacy before work. So it was about 9:30 a.m. as I approached the interchange when first I heard, then saw off in the distance about a half-mile to my right, a big, loud, blue-grey F-something fighter-looking jet with sleek pinned-back sharp-edged wings, in the middle of a takeoff.

My first instinct was, naturally, to roll all the windows down in order to hear every shriek of the engines and relish this rare opportunity to appreciate the full effect of this expensive military aircraft which was preparing to blister the surface of the atmosphere directly above me. So I did. With all four windows down, I knew it was going to be a veritable quadraphenia.

It was big and flew kind of slow, actually, right over my car, casting a huge shadow over me, at an altitude of about fifteen hundred feet. I watched from the on-ramp, kind of driving slow, steering with my knees for a bit there, craning my neck like I hate when other drivers do -- but hey, this was a rare moment in time -- as it headed west about a mile, then to my overjoyed surprise, turned to the right whipped a u-turn and flew back again, directly over my car, at an even lower altitude, blacking out the sun. This time I estimated it was flying at a max of 800 feet. The other-worldly, hissing, low-boom cracking roar it made was so complete, and so totally stimulating it drowned out the sound of my own whopping hollering screams, and I could feel it lifting the hairs up off the back of my neck, backs of my knees, tingling the tips of my fingers and little toes and under my arches and heels, like when a doctor suddently tests your reflexes with the tip of a sharp rounded instrument. That kind of Woohoo! feeling. No fooling. I was last seen waving one fist in the air, screaming, "Yayess!! Thank ya Jee-zuss!!! Aww, man!!! That was so cool!!! Yayess!!" I turned the radio on and KFOG was playing Led Zeppelin. Been A Long Time Since I Rock And Rolled. I turned it up all the way and rode that buzz all the way to Stanford. Rock and roll. What a fantastic way to start the week. Truly.

Rein-Curlnation.

Yesterday, I heard an odd bird singing from the branches of a tree just outside my bedroom window. I swear it was singing, "Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck," just like Curly Joe Howard used to do. Made me wonder about reincarnation for a little while.

Buy This Great Pretendsident Bush T-Shirt.

This fantastic t-shirt was designed prior to 9/11, and by virture of yesterday's press conference, wherein Mr. Bush had a complete and total 'nucular' meltdown on national television, is made tremendously poignant now more than ever. If Bush were a vaudevillian on stage, he'd surely have gotten the hook by now. People, please: can we get this numbskull out of the Oval Office? His predecessors must be spinning in their respective tombs.

I have the poster at home on a dartboard.

Update: PC Terminology.

My friend Jim is a smalltown policeman in Maine. Jim tells me that the word "donuts" is no longer the correct term. They are called "police power rings."

Pope Goes Wireless?

"Pope Goes Wireless" was a banner on the morning news. My first thought was, "Oh, so that's what's been holding him up all these years."

Actually, the story was about the Pope being in a deal with some wireless company where if you dial "2-4-4-4" you will get a recorded daily message from the Pope. What's next? If you dial "6-6-6" will you get a message from Satan? Would dialing "4-2-0" play a recorded message from this guy? How far will this go? Can we text message The Pope back, asking for absolution? Can we phone our confessions in to local parish priests?

I'm thinking of convering to Catholicism, just for the wirelessness.

Bow to the Grammar Goddess.

For fun, I took a Quizilla grammar test. Here are my results:

You are a GRAMMAR GOD!


If your mission in life is not already to
preserve the English tongue, it should be.
Congratulations and thank you!

Pam On KFOG - No Fooling.

Anyone listening to KFOG this morning heard my sweet little husky voice chime in. Nadine Condon was on the KFOG Morning Show; the DJs were asking listeners to phone in with cool band names they made up. So naturally I phoned them to give them one of mine. They loved it: Tons of Undies. Fun to say, fun to hear, and so stupid it's moderately funny. The DJs were cracking up. Hey, I know it's weird, but that's why you love me. Dave Morey even said, "That's a GREAT band name!" I love KFOG. It's super-fun fun to hear your own voice on the radio. See what my friend Faye had to say:

F: Hey Pam, I think Tom is working at home today.
P: Good for him. He was telling me about his gardening adventures. He may have invented a more creative term for "Ditch Witch" by now.
F: :)
P: I was on the radio this morning on KFOG.
P: very briefly but I was on
P: they asked callers to phone in cool band names
P: I phoned one in, they loved it. I had them cracking up.
F: What's the name?
P: don't laugh
P: Tons of Undies.
F: Great name Pam.
F: You should go into the writing business -- you are sooo good at it.
P: haha, thanks
P: I'll stick with my blog, that's good enough for me.
F: No haha, but I'm serious. You have a great command of the English language.
F: Remember those newsletters you used to write at Skjerven?
P: yeah, oh man, that was good practice
F: I know -- you have a flare for it.
P: Jill of all trades, mistress of one.
P: hey, I just made that up.
F: See?