Happy Birthday to Me (Reinstated)

(minus financial report.)

Pictured: One of my favorite birthday surprises. Wish you could walk in our front door right now and inhale.

Happyness

Linda Davick

One reason I love living by the ocean is because every time I go for a walk, things have changed. Not only do the sky and water change... but the tiny things on the ground get swallowed up each night and replaced by different tiny things.

Every day there are new rocks and shells. But also some of the strangest things appear: odd pieces of furniture and toys, bits of glass and plastic, funny-looking sea creatures.

My Dream Home

Last year around this time I posted a photo of my dream home. (Underneath the shoe picture.) When Aggles e-mailed me the photo above, I knew it was time to reassess. This one is called the micro compact home. Is it not magnificent? The car, too.

Back on the Beach

Top of the Mark

Norma is from Tennessee, just like me. During WWII she travelled out here and ended up staying for three years. She worked at a printing company. Top of the Mark was one of the spots she frequented with her pals. Last night the five of us sat in the same corner where they used to sit, with a view of the bay.

Norma likes martinis. I had recently read a study that said the most important thing you can do for your brain is to take on new challenges. So I decided to learn how to make a martini, and had been practicing for weeks. When the moment for martini presentation arrived, I poured the drink and stuck two olives on the plastic pirate sword. I handed her the glass. Tom asked her how it was. She said, "Good. A little heavier on the vermouth than I'm used to."

Kelly then showed me how to make a superior martini. He poured vermouth into a glass and swirled it around, but ended up pouring all the vermouth from the glass back into the bottle. The glass was left with nothing but a thin film of vermouth. He then poured vodka into the glass, and then poured that from the glass into a shaker with ice. When he strained the drink back into the glass, it tasted nothing, nothing like the one I had made. It's clear that I must keep practicing.

Kids These Days

Kelly, 87 & Norma, 85, at the Parkside Cafe, Stinson Beach

Moochers

Norma and Kelly are Tom's stepmom and dad. They'll be sponging off us all weekend, along with Tom's sister Diane, who refused to be photographed. They're downing our wine like there's no tomorrow.

She Lives in a Box of Paints

Linda Davick


My friend Anne. I'd rather not say how long I worked on her site–but with the help of Sally Queen of Code Cruikshank, it's finished.

By the Sea

I found this creature at the base of the sea wall.

7 Things About Me You May Not Want to Know

from left: Jerri Blank (Strangers With Candy), Quasi (Quasi at the Quackadero)

I've been tagged by Luci to tell 7 things about myself that others may not know.

1. I wear a NightGuard when I sleep. One of my favorite things to do is to put it in and impersonate characters from my favorite movies.

2. I've collected 300+ pounds of beach glass from walks on Ocean Beach.

3. I have phone phobia, though it helps to wear my NightGuard when talking on the phone.

4. My favorite breakfast is leftover pizza with black coffee.

5. My mom taught piano. She wanted desperately to teach me. We made deals. If I got through a book, I would get to choose a reward from the Sears catalog. I finished one book. I chose an army suit.

6. I love sewn-on badges and stickers of all kinds. That's one reason I wanted the army suit. I joined the Girl Scouts so I could collect all those badges on the sash. But it took way too long to earn the badges, so I quit.

7. Method cleaning products turn me on. Especially the old bowling pin-shaped dish detergent bottle that never worked properly. Now that it's been discontinued, I'd do anything to see it again. Wait a minute! It hasn't been discontinued! You can order it online even!

The Secret Life of Words

I love it when something like this happens: Tom brought home some movies a few days ago. I wasn't too interested in the one called The Secret Life of Words; I thought it was about the guy who makes up crossword puzzles for the New York Times. Last night we turned on the fire and I plopped down on the FatBoy, looking forward to watching Breaking and Entering. To my surprise, Tom had already seen it the night before, and the word movie began. Reluctantly I settled in and decided I'd give it a try.

It turned out that it wasn't about the crossword puzzle editor at all! That's Wordplay. The one we watched is by Almodóvar (All About my Mother and Talk to Her are 2 of my favorites). But back to the point: The Secret Life of Words is the best movie I've seen all year. Oops. It's directed by Isabel Coixet (?) and produced by Almodóvar. Still. The best movie I've seen in two years. How about you? Seen anything extraordinary lately?

Get Well Card

Mapping the Human Brain

© Linda Davick
When Luci asked if spaghetti could be substituted with phad see eww, and Salzer suggested that everyone's brain might not be the same as mine, I was shocked.

Is your brain different from mine?

Mom and ... hey, that's Aggles!

For years I've kept this photo, thinking it was of Mom and me. But as I was scanning it this evening, I noticed a figure in the background. I realized that it's Aggles whose hand Mom is holding. The shady figure in the background is me. Picking up rocks.

Proof

© Linda Davick
Just to reiterate Thursday's portrait tip: Windblown hair does not have to mean out-of-control hair, if you use the right hair spray and avoid new cuts and styles.
(What is this thing? Does anybody know?)

I Want This Shoe

Maybe I'll get this shoe for my birthday. (And the left one, too.)
Here's a good song off the Roches' new CD, Moonswept:

NO SHOES
i had no shoes and i complained
until i met a man who had no feet
that’s really beat i had no feet and i
complained until i met a man who
had no knees that was his disease
i had no knees and i complained until
i met a man and you know what he
had no butt i had no butt and i
complained about it all and then
i met a man who had no balls i had
no balls and i complained until i met
a man who had no guts no balls no
butt and now no guts i had no guts
and i complained until i met a man
who had no heart the most important
part i had no heart and i complained
i did not understand and then i met
a man who had no hands i had no hands
and i complained until i met a man who
was a wreck he had no neck i had no
neck and i complained until i met a
man who had no chin some folks lose
and some folks win i had no chin and i
complained until i met a man who had no
nose that really blows i had no nose and i
complained until i met a man who
never cries he had no eyes i had no eyes
and i complained until i met a man who
felt no pain he had no brain i had no
brain and i complained until i met a man
who had no head as good as dead i had no
head and i complained until i met a man
who had no hair there was nothing there
i had no hair and i complained until i met
a man who had no hat picture that not even
a hat i had no hat and i complained until i
met a man who had no sky no reason why
i had no sky and i complained until
i met a man who had no stars no
venus or mars and not any stars
i had no stars and i complained until
i met a man who had no god that’s
rather odd i had no god and I com-
plained until i met a man who had
no faith nothing just in case i had
no faith and i complained until i
met a man who had no love nothing
to dream of i had no love and i com-
plained until i met a man who had
no hope at the end of his rope i had
no hope and i complained until i met
a man who had no luck that really
sucks i had no luck and i complained
that i had nothing left to lose and
then i met a man who had no shoes.

Portrait Tips

© Linda Davick
I googled windblown hair for my readers, and uncovered this information from a prominent portrait photographer:
Hair that is easily moved can be a problem on the beach. There is almost always a sea breeze. Plan for it. If you must use hair spray, use light or flex hold very sparingly as to allow your hair to flow naturally. Avoid new cuts and styles. I cannot be responsible for windblown hair! Flyaway hair can be retouched but not in the face or over the eyes.
Please remember that your portrait photographer cannot, under any circumstances, be held responsible for windblown hair.

Rabies

© Linda Davick

Monkey

© Linda Davick

Entomophobia

© Linda Davick

'Tude: Choose Your Prize

1. Button collection
2. Sketch book (7 x 10)
3. Tequila-flavored sucker with worm
4. Perfectly good plumbing fixture except for small leak

Tenn. Sal and Ken, thanks for playing! The contest was much harder for you two being that you've known me for 25 years and have never seen me in girls' shoes.

Gregory Conover

Noggin is a fun and beautiful show. When I walked in, there were so many red dots I thought the gallery had chicken pox.

Gregory Conover is Cheryl's ex. Whenever she visits from New York, she stays in his apartment and Janet and I descend on it and drink all his wine and eat all his cashews.

The show is at 349 25th Avenue. To see it, call 415-786-6742 for an appointment.

This e-mail just in: I followed the link in your blog and went to see Gregory Conover's web site. His works are so colorful and cheerful. To tell you the truth, I think I like him better with his lemon hair rather than the (natural?) brunette in your blog. I wish him a successful show so he can buy more cashews for his visitors.

Shoe Contest / Great Prize

1. Zebra
2. Slipper
3. Gardenia
4. Royale w/out Cheese
When I opened the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink this afternoon, a waterfall gushed out. We had to go to Home Despot and buy a new faucet. And we all know what's right across the parking lot from Home Despot. Right! Nordstrom Rack, the purveyor of fine shoes that nobody has bought at Nordstrom Proper. Be the first to guess which shoes I bought and win a delightful prize.

Reclining

I recline

But we were desperately hungry. Before we could think about stepping into a Home Despot, we needed some nourishment–and FAST. Tom refused to drive by for a Royale with Cheese. We ended up running into this little joint on Judah which we mistook for a Jamba Juice. We ordered sherpa sandwiches. (Carrot raisin loaf filled with cashew cream cheese. With tomato, red onion, lettuce, sprouts. $6.50.) I know what you're thinking. This doesn't sound like me. But once again, I was making a sacrifice for my marriage. We noticed a tiny room in the corner full of pillows with a sign that said: Please Remove Shoes.

We looked at each other. We removed our shoes. We sat down. Five minutes went by. Ten minutes went by. Twenty minutes went by. It occurred to us that this was not a fast food joint. It dawned on us finally that this was not a Jamba Juice at all–it was a raw foods restaurant called Judahlicious. Overcome by hunger, I keeled over.

Our sandwiches arrived. They were spectacular. Worth the wait even. The raw food gave us the fortitude to venture into Home Despot, and then onward to the shoe department at The Rack.
Tom reclines

Pilgram (sp.?) In A Playboat

© Linda Davick


It was rainy and windy on the beach this evening. But getta loada this hair I found! I think it must have been from a little Hawaiian skirt. When I tried it on a triangular black rock closer to the water, the ocean snuck up on me and carried it away.





E-mail from Luci
(referring to spelling comment from last Sunday's post): Would you like to bet whether Marie's blog is Pilgrim in a Playboat instead of Pilgram? :)

After I opened Luci's message this morning, I went straight to Marie's blog. I was horrified to find that Marie had spelled the word "Pilgram" wrong. And in the title of her blog! And that it had been misspelled ever since she started her blog, and no one had called it to her attention. Would she not be humiliated? After all, she was getting ready to graduate from a prestigious New England university.

Casually I typed "pilgram" into my online Oxford dictionary, just to be sure. No such word! I glanced at my links and it gradually dawned on me whose mistake it was.

Later ...
From: Luci
Subject: pointy stone
Date: May 3, 2007 1:32:36 PM PDT
To: Linda
I’m sorry I didn’t mention it earlier, like … since you first put her link (grin & wink). I am the one with the worst grammar in my family, everyone always correct me --- even Christer (ever since he can talk). My defense is English is not my first language. And, my first language has no form of past tense, present tense, singular, or plural, etc. But, I can’t use that excuse in my family because my mom, aunts, and uncle have no such problem. My grandfather passed away when I was eight. Had he lived longer, I’d probably have better grammar. He was known to return people’s mail with grammatical/spelling correction written in red ink. Having enough experience from my lovely family of grammar bullies, I hope you understand why I didn’t point it out much earlier. As all points go … they’re generally pointy à ouch!
Love, Luci.

I Always Wanted a Little House on the Beach

© Linda Davick

subpar |səbˈpär| adjective below an average level

When my internet pal Sal was in eighth grade she was the feature editor for her school newspaper, and was invited to go to a special conference in New York for school newspaper editors. David Halberstam was the guest speaker.

She writes how inspiring his speech was, and how it left her with the feeling that there were many more possibilities in life than she'd ever imagined.

When I was in eighth grade, Richard Nixon came to the Memorial Auditorium to speak. Our class rode over in a bus, eager to be going anywhere other than algebra. As we were in line, riding up the escalator in the auditorium, I suddenly spotted Sexton (wow–what a name!) my boyfriend from summer camp, on the floor below. Dressed in his McCallie boys' school uniform, he was ambling among a navy blue cloud of other boys. I shouted out his name and waved madly.

My English teacher collared me at the top of the escalator and shook me hard. "You know better than that! Behave yourself!"

A few years later I was elected editor of our high school literary magazine The Driftwood. My boyfriend wrote a poem for it. I published it. If you read it vertically instead of horizontally, the first letter of each line spelled "F*CK YOU." One day Steve C. felt compelled to point this out to my English teacher, Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Johnson called me at home on the phone and told me how disappointed she was in me.

I visited my Mom two weeks ago and took her check book and credit card with me when I left. I told her I was taking them in order to protect her, and she agreed that it was a good idea. I made arrangements with the staff at the Terrace to pay for whatever she might need when they went on an outing, and to charge it to her monthly bill. Today Aggles called and said that Mom was very upset that I took her card; and that she even wondered briefly if I took it so I could use it. Instantly I felt guilty, even though I am a different person today than I was in high school. Really I am. I am, really.

Yesterday I found a gift card from Crate & Barrel on the beach. When I got home, I checked the number online and discovered that it had fifty dollars on it. What would you do? Would you try to figure out who lost it, or would you order Funky Monkey straightaway?