Archive for August, 2004

San Francisco is at Burning Man. It’s like someone took the city, turned it upside down, and shook out all the bottled water, faux fur, and Cool Ranch Doritos.

Our friend Josh is in for the weekend. We’re having a quiet, excessively hung over breakfast at the Pork Store.
Me: Where are we going today?
Bryan: Well, Lori wants to meet up, and she’s babysitting her godchildren.
Me: Right. We were talking about going to the Exploratorium.
Josh: What’s that?
Me: It’s a kids’ science […]

Lamprey mouth (via rebecky)
Queasy Pops (via Mimi Smartypants)

I decide to watch a little TV, and realize there’s an “Oprah” on Tivo that I haven’t seen. I read the show description:
“Children sold into prostitution, children trained to kill, babies raped by men.”
Yeah. So, if I flip over to VH1 to watch “Behind the Music” with George Michael, I’m definitely going to hell.

A parenting lesson from Fussy:
“The more stringently you forbid something, the more attractive it becomes to the forbidee, correct? And shameful, because you still want to do it, but you also know you have to hide it, and the situation gets everso charged. And we want to drain all the charge out of things like […]

We’re in D.C. staying at the gorgeous, velvety, sunlit Hotel Monaco. The rooms come equipped with animal-print bathrobes, they’ll loan you a goldfish for the duration of your stay, and our suite has a cavernous bathtub. It’s the kind of bathtub that makes you hesitate if you don’t know how to swim, the kind of […]

Last night, we went to Six Apart’s very first official party, where we ran into some friends we hadn’t seen in awhile. One of them said, “We should hang out more. You guys don’t annoy us.”

The bathrooms have little “security seal” stickers all over everything. I think they’re supposed to indicate that no one has placed a bomb in the paper-towel rack. By day three, all of the seals are broken. While the absence of security seals wouldn’t concern me, for some reason, the broken security seals are making me […]

I’ve always known that I tear up when I hear large groups of people singing patriotic songs. So it was no surprise when I had to bust out my hanky for the “Star Spangled Banner.” “This Land is My Land”? Check. “America the Beautiful”? Check. And then “Johnny Be Good” came on.

I return a rental car about a mile from the Fleet Center, and a bomb-sniffing dog searches my car. As I walk over to the convention space, I’m struck by how many men in dark suits seem to have descended in the last twelve hours. On every street, there are packs of men having a […]