Today is someone’s birthday. He is small, white and fluffy, afraid of balloons and today he is two years old although he doesn’t look a day over 1.
Here’s a cute video of him as a puppy.
And here are a couple posts charting his odyssey into the world of dance.
And here are more photos:
The September photo of the Tobey calendar my sister gave my family for Christmas last year is especially adorable. I am staring at it right now instead of writing, which I’m also doing right now, in theory. But back to the cute Tobey photo. Thought you might want to see it:
A bunch of you have been asking to see video from when I played in The Angoras so here you go. A few songs from a show we played at The Garage in Hollywood in 2001. I’m playing the sparkly silver Gretsch. Paula is in the middle and Yami is on bass. Tim was on drums. Paula and Tim still play music in bands. All three of my former band mates have been on my show. I miss them.
This is where I get my blond hair and blue eyes
This is my mom’s mom. She died when I was six. Wasn’t she pretty? Last night my mom sent my sister and me some old family photos and letters which she’d just received. It’s pretty sobering stuff. My grandmother made it to America from Vienna right as the war broke out but her brother and parents weren’t so lucky. Her attempts to bring her brother over here and the eventual discovery that her family had been killed—just as she’d raised enough money to secure her brother’s transport—is all detailed in there. Perhaps I’ll share some of it here. I haven’t figure it out yet. What’s a little atrocity in between fart jokes? Exactly.
As you perhaps well know, I was on my favorite podcast—The 404—on Friday. Perhaps you want to watch it? I think so.
Rhett Reese is the co-writer/producer of the upcoming Zombieland and Earth Vs. Moon and he created my favorite reality show, The Joe Schmo Show. He addresses the uncanny similarities between Schmo and E!’s new Reality Hell at the 7:25 mark.
Surely you’ve heard of Fashion’s Night Out, right? Where skinny people save the economy by going to parties in stores or something?
Fashion’s Night Out
Fashion’s Night In.
“My socks aren’t matching. It’s that point in the laundry cycle,” I fibbed to Dustin yesterday, as if laundry has anything to do with my occasional habit of sticking it to the man by refusing to follow his Byzantine sock laws. “I noticed,” said Dustin, with just a hint of judgment in his voice. “And you have holes in one of them.” I pretended to find this surprising—as if I hadn’t been feeling the inside of my shoe making direct contact with my skin in four places earlier that day. Then Dustin revealed that he’d once spent a night at home darning socks and waiting for the permanent to set in his hair. Then he drew lines up the back of his legs while sipping on bathtub gin. I didn’t even know you could darn socks. I figured you just wore them till they disintegrated and then threw them out. “But aren’t you left with a very little sock?” I asked. Apparently the sock’s stretchiness allows for the darning though. Still, there’s something depressing about the idea of sewing up the holes in a sock. I prefer to indulge myself by never coming face to face with a needle and thread. In fact, I’ve watched various men sew buttons in my presence and felt like something less than a true woman upon realizing they were better at it than I. Which is not to say that I didn’t once take a sewing class where we made skorts and then made scrunchies with the leftover fabric, because I did.
“We had to do it in the army,” explained one guy. It was yet another reason I’d have been terrible in the military. But I know there will probably come a day when, under duress, I will have to sew a button or a sock. I hope there’s a serviceman nearby.