Last night we talked about places: Boston, Sydney, Montreal. We ran figures and dates. Theoretical for the moment, but that's how it starts.

Why don't you guess what Adam's talking about?

"I was getting ready for it to do the Spaceballs thing where (the camera) keeps going and going and just sort of bumps into it."

"How bad do you think her English is?"

"You see him fix the sink? You gotta love when they're like, oh, it's broken, now it's fixed."

Today's writing

Not sure about the "Jewish hymen" line, but let's see how it works:


“No,” I say, “I don’t plan to go to Germany.”

I’m on the phone with Rooster, trying to convince him that my Jewish hymen will remain intact.

“They killed us there, you know.”

There it is again: the Judaism of convenience. Rooster and Nails practically mainline bacon. They wouldn’t know a Hebrew phrase if it came up and bit them in the ass. The closest they come to worship is a Mel Brooks movie on the DVD player, but I get a plane ticket and all of a sudden they’re the paragons of Semitic virtue.

I was thinking about fear of loss. It made me sad rather than angry. That's a step forward.

Because

About 45 seconds before our first kiss, Adam and I sat on a bench outside a gift shop on Piedmont Avenue. My head rested on his chest. My heart slammed against my ribs. It hurt.

"Why me?" he asked.

"You're safe," I said.

It was an easy, convenient answer. It also couldn't be more wrong. He wasn't safe, not in any conventional sense of the word. He's the biggest challenge of my life.

Thank God.

Today

The whole family. I seem to be wearing this sweater a lot in pictures lately.
Camera-shy kitty.
Adam and Oliver. Deborah Madison's "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone" -- we made her Cauliflower, Spinach, and Potato Curry for dinner tonight with Angela, Chris, Lorraine and Andrea. (Though Andrea indulged only in the cookies.)
Oliver likes him best.
Grin.
Glaring happily.

Santa Barbara

State Street, where I spent more than my share of time back in the day.
State Street.
Butt peeping out from a store window.
Adam's version of meditation at the Natural Cafe: "Fuck yooou ... fuck yooou ..."
Isla Vista, where I spent my undergrad years. This is true IV style, cuz.
IV. It was dead on New Year's Day.
IV.
Adam, burqa-style.
Mixed messages, I think.
Santa Barbara Mission. The queen of the missions and one of my favorite places to hang out when I was in school.
Shot from upstairs at Java Jones, State Street, Santa Barbara. Check out this guy's hat!
The Mission, brought to you by the Auto Club of Southern California.
Adam and my dad at the mission. My dad went to the Rose Parade and then drove up to hang out with us. The next day, we had dinner with Yelles.
Sambo's. Seriously.