Dear people conveying their dogs in strollers,

Stop it.

At first we thought you had a baby in there, as is often the case when people are pushing strollers through parks. But then, we noticed your baby was an extraordinarily active little thing. In fact, your baby seemed to be kicking and punching at the weird stroller enclosure, perhaps even throwing its tiny body against the mesh. My god! Do you need help?! What is wrong with your baby?

Oh. We see now. Your baby is, in fact, a Labrador Retriever. That’s rather disquieting. Perhaps it’s one of those dogs with some sort of unfortunate injury? The kind of sweet little dog that needs wheels on its hindquarters to walk? Well, that’s understandable then, I mean…

But wait. Your dog just jumped out of the stroller and began bounding around the park. He’s rather fat, but otherwise perfectly able bodied. So what the hell, nutter?

Are you unable to control your dog on the city streets with a mere leash, though you’re now allowing that same dog to gad about amongst small children? You’re aware that the phrase “he’s my baby,” when applied to animals, is meant as a joke? Or do you also plan to breast-feed?

In conclusion, let your dog run. That’s what dogs do. If you want to put something in a stroller, get an iguana.

Sincerely,
Margaret Mason

Mother’s Day is this Sunday! Fortunately, the Mother’s Day Gift Guide is up on Mighty Goods and Mighty Junior. Order something perfect today, so Mom won’t have to settle for a “gift-pack” of Toblerone from the corner convenience store on Sunday.

This video made me happy cry.
A girl dancing with her little-girl self.

Right before I got pregnant, we decided we wanted to own a home. We tentatively put bids on a couple of San Francisco fixer uppers. The first one was a unit in an empty six-unit building, and we offered asking price.

We waited anxiously while the owner ignored us for a week, and then he countered $30,000 above asking. We asked our agent, “Were there other offers?” He said no. We asked our agent, “Where does this guy live?” And then we drove over and punched him in the teeth.

Next, we fell hard for the top floor of a Victorian with hardwood floors, vaulted ceilings, window seats, and wish-granting fairies who lived in the dumbwaiter. It was a tenancy in common, which means you share a mortgage with total strangers. I kid you not. In many cases, you may not even meet the people with whom you will share the house and a mortgage before you put in a bid.

If your bid is approved, you take out life insurance on each other in case something happens to one of you. Later, they hire someone to kill you so they can afford to own the whole building. Anyway, we wrote a heartfelt letter about raising our children there, bid a ludicrous amount over asking, and came in seventh out of thirteen bidders. I still feel bewildered.

It was around this time that we happened across a perfect little cabin in the wine country, and decided we could afford the modest mortgage and still pay rent on our apartment in the city. We bought a vacaaaation home. I say this with a long cigarette holder perched between my fingers as I bathe in organic cream.

The nearby town used to be a resort destination in the 1920s and ’30s, and in some ways, it still has that feel — like a big summer camp for grown ups, except most people living there are locals now. And the locals, they make life a lot more fun.

Once, on a morning walk with Hank, we noticed one of our neighbors had stuck a decaying boar’s head on a post in the driveway, Lord of the Flies style. Presumably to warn the other boars? Perhaps so they can dance around it at night chanting? I’ve been meaning to ask. Maybe I’ll take some muffins over.

Recently, we saw these excellent flyers posted everywhere:

In case you can’t make that out, it goes a little something like this:

$REWARD$
For information
Leading to the
Beatdown of
whoever tryed to
steal my G.M.C. Truck
in between 11:00 PM 5-9
And 7:30 AM 5-10-08
Call (number painstakingly obscured in Photoshop)
$REWARD$
I will find you!

Of course, this happened last month, not seven days from now, but shut up. You knew what he meant.

I’ve decided Information Leading to a Beatdown is the highest classification of information. The essence of news you can use: News you can use to assault someone.

In short, we finally found a place to call home. And if you touch our car, you know what to expect.

We visited the Presidio Social Club last night and it turns out the restaurant has a secret menu. I did a little research when we got home and found this interesting secret menu PDF of other restaurants in the Bay Area that also have tricks up their sleeves. I especially want to try the Swan Oyster Depot’s sashimi plate.

Here’s one for national chains. Do any of you know of similarly comprehensive lists for other big cities?

Heather just published her very first book, Things I Learned About My Dad (in therapy). It’s a collection of essays about fatherhood, and if you ever wondered how I feel about my dad, mine’s in there too. As is Alice’s. In fact, her essay about fatherhood and Star Wars also appeared in this month’s Wondertime magazine. (That’s why I have an 8.5″ x 11″ photo of Alice dressed as Princess Leia stuck to the side of our fridge. Also, one in my night stand drawer, but I digress.)

I’m excited for Heather right now, because I know something very big is about to happen. Sometime soon, a stranger will ask what she does. Instead of saying, “Well… do you read… like… how do I put this. Uh, I’m a blogger?” she can look them straight in the eye and say, “I’m a writer.”

And a damn good one too.

I love commemorative gifts for births and weddings that are meant to be passed down through generations. That’s what we had in mind with the Heirloom Baby Shower Gift Guide on Mighty Junior. It’s full of lovely, significant gifts that will stand the test of time. Go have a look.

Also, we’re just starting to post ideas for Mother’s Day gifts (May 11), and the guide on that will be finished next week.

I am in my car with friends in the Castro, waving to the tiny girl on the corner. Her fathers are holding her hands as they wait to cross the street. By the time they notice me, my waving has grown more desperate, and they exchange an uneasy glance. They look away, across the avenue, and finally see what my friends and I have already seen — a man, stark naked at noon on a Sunday, waiting to cross in the opposite direction.

The fathers squeeze the little girl’s hands and point at me, smiling. “HI!” I say. “Hi, ka-toots!” She waves back at me, puzzled, and looks up at her dads. All of us together are grinning urgently. The family crosses, and the naked man passes them while we continue to exchange imperative waves. “Hello! Hello! Hello! ”

When they’ve passed our car, the debate begins.

-What the hell is up, Naked Guy?
-Is this a thing? Convention? Street Fair?
-I don’t think so.
-I think that’s crazy right there.
-A dare maybe?
-If it were a dare, wouldn’t he at least be wearing shoes?
-Yep, that’s stark-naked crazy.

Then, Naked Guy crosses again, and we see him approach Naked Guy #2.

-Ah! There’s two of them.
-OK, then.
-That’s a thing.
-We officially live in a city where one naked guy makes us more nervous than two.

So, a while ago, I posted my dream Tea Pantry, and mentioned that Bryan had brought back some lovely tea from China with (obviously) no English on the packaging. Lots of people made guesses at what it might be in comments, and a few people requested photos, so here they are. Name that tea, friends!

Update: I know it’s not gunpowder, so it looks like rough consensus says green oolong. Thanks, Internet friends!

At the coffee shop, the baristas are doing cups. They brew the coffee, use a spoon to sample from each bowl, swish the coffee around in their mouths, and presumably recalibrate the machines as necessary.

I watch for a moment, then space out for five minutes pondering who would have the strongest aura here if I could see auras.

California knows how to party.