you can go home again,
you just can't eat there

despite the humidity, the dead cicadas, this slow-ass dial-up internet service at my brother's house and my aching back and rotator cuff, i am happy to be home in cincinnati. i've been here less than 48 hours and i have already seen two of my best friends, interacted with a few relatives and found a house that i must buy--more on that later.

it's all good except for the food. generally the choices here are fast food, faster food, meat, meat and more meat, and cheesy and greasy. not exactly vegetarian-friendly.

i didn't get up until after noon today and it was after five when i finally got around to getting something to eat. i started the day off fixing a bathroom cabinet at my parents' house, then planted them and their canes in the family ford for a little cruise around the burbs. our first stop was the dry cleaners and then we journeyed out at my uncle's house in silverton, about 10 miles away. i rarely see my aunt and uncle when i'm here so it was lovely to see them and a nice treat for the folks since they don't get out much. after that visit i took them to a soul food dive where they ordered fried whiting and some high-fat, sodium-laced sides.

you know i couldn't have that--even though it was smelling pretty damn good.

since i've pretty much weaned myself off of bread and cheese, sandwiches were pretty much out. i had pasta the night before with my BFF&E bo. wasn't feeling a salad and i'm always suspect of eating any ethnic cuisines in the suburbs. i finally settled on some general tsu tofu from this chinese spot in a strip mall not far from my brother's house.

big mistake.

it was greasy and the broccoli was overcooked. and, of course, they looked at me as if i were an alien when i asked if they had brown rice.

brown rice here is white rice soaked in brown gravy.

my brother and his wife had invited me to dinner but only after i had already ordered my take-out. i had to eat it. i was starving and i needed something in my stomach so i could take my pain meds for the whack back and sore arm.

but bonding time is important when you get to be this age because you never know who's going to be here and who's not the next time you swoop into town. i told them i would go with them but that i needed to stop by my friend bo's house to see her grandson first. grandma bo was babysitting and it sounded as though she was having a hard time keeping up with an energetic 1-year-old.

i'm always willing to lend a hand when i can.

i was about three minutes from bo's house when my sister-in-law called and said i had locked them out on their back porch. what? oh, this was too deep. so, i had to make a u-ie and release those caged birds and then head back to bo's. i spent about 20 minutes with her and her grandson before cruising back to my brother's house which is about 10 minutes away.

when i got back to his house there was no one home. my homies had left me.

i grew up in suburban cincinnati, so i don't know the city that well at all. i had a general idea where this restaurant was, but it took me quite a while to find it. by the time i arrived they were half-way through their dinner. i had a glass of domestic pinot noir--the horror of it all--and shared a piece of carrot cake with my sister-in-law. the cake was the best thing i had had all day.

did i mention how much i love being at home? i do, i really, really do for myriad reasons: i never have to overhear any conversations about what's going on in the biz; people are generally friendly even when my road rage shifts into high gear and i'm screaming at them; no one mentioned the 15 pounds i've gained since last summer; i love that people are genuinely happy to see me and likewise; i think it's wonderful that some women think that it's ok to wear pants with whales and ducks on them; and oddly enough, i miss the thunderstorms and how fresh and clean and clear everything is afterwards. we don't get those in l.a.

plus, what's old is really new and that kind of re-energizes me.

the things i don't dig? i haven't been around to see my parents grow old and it's a really jolting experience; my brother not only has no dsl, but no call-waiting, no tivo and no on/off remote for the tv in my room so it feels like i'm living in peoria, circa 1958; i'm also not real keen on the humidity after that horrendous heatwave i just left in l.a. but it's the lack of healthy food choices that gets me the most.

even the wyoming bakery is closed this week because the staff is on vacation! WTF?! so that means no smile cookies for little miki--my one sugary indulgence.

maybe i'm going to have to venture out of the burbs.

or it might be a good time to start that fast.

WWOD (what would oprah do)?

she'd probably buy the house with the pool and hire a cook.

photo: my mother nancy and her cousin marg

angela pancrazio, 51

photojournalism lost a great one last night at 10:18, and i lost a friend.

a, i have no shots of you--how can that be? but at least i can still see you every morning/afternoon/night when i wake up. i've got your nikki giovanni in front of me and the shot you took of pensive me after the trib had been saved to my right.

funny, i can't help but wonder if you were able to capture your transition on film with one of your old leica's. i bet the lighting was just perfect.

http://www.azcentral.com/news/articles/2008/06/20/20080620Pancrazio-obit20-ON.html

xox.

rookie blogger makes major snafu with
"r" word comment, insults legend

every now and then those of us who use words to enlighten, inform, inspire and empower make mistakes. i made a big one in a recent post called "locker mate for life" when i wrote that i didn't much care for folks whose surname began with the letter "r."

in doing so i offended a sister blogger, a legend in her own mind and a proud member of the "r" crew. since this sister has been a faithful visitor to this space--and also because she put me on blast earlier today--i felt compelled to issue this heartfelt apology.

what had happened was that my mind was locked in a time warp. i was actually referring to some people i used to know back in the day: royston, runnels, reckseit, rosenberg, rosenthal. i in no way meant to offend any other "r's." my own name has several "r's" in it, too. now that this faux paux has been brought to my attention, i can honestly say i have seen the error of my ways and grown from this most unfortunate experience.

alphabetism is the ugliest of all hate crimes.

i hope no one will hold this against me as i don't want to lose my job as a part-time blogger. blogging has made me a better person--one who simply wants to serve humanity.

so, as tyler perry is my witness, i swear on a stack of poorly-written scripts that this won't happen again. i am truly sorry miss ross.

photo: da devodiva addresses fans and the media at her recent press conference.

tears on my laptop

i'm one of those people who almost never cry. it's not that i don't feel things, i do. it's just that sometimes the tears, for some reason, just don't flow. that said, i almost always cry when i see the team, or a player i'm rooting for win the big one in real life or in the movies. rudy, remember the titans, kareem abdul-jabbar's final game, kevin garnett.

i initially predicted that boston--a team i can go back to hating now--would top l.a. in five games for the nba crown. i was wrong. it took six for kg and crew to win the big one and for my tears to fall.

why kg and not kb?

when i covered the nba back in the '90s he was always one of my favorites. always open, always polite, always making you laugh and never cocky. he had the most amicable demeanor of anyone in the locker room, which made it so much easier to be a small woman in the land of the giants. that's why i got a little misty as i listened to him try and express his emotions last night through his own tears.

i was especially moved when he embraced celtic great bill russell and thanked him for his guidance.

class.

this title, this feeling, this moment has long eluded kg. and he has been repeatedly maligned for it.

kg is now going to get that elusive ring, but i think he's also going to learn a very valuable lesson.

sometimes you've just got to be still and it will come.

espn's jemele hill fouls out of the game--for now

here we go again. don imus. isaiah washington. mel gibson. and now jemele hill.

i can't say i know exactly how espn.com page 2 columnist and on-air personality jemele hill feels right now, but i know it can't be good.

just 96 hours after expressing her disdain for the boston celtics, espn suspended the prolific scribe indefinitely. hill's column, which hit the worldwide web last saturday, contained some offensive references to hitler and the celtics organization. hill, the site's only black female columnist, earned her unscheduled vacation time, however, for penning this passage:

"rooting for the celtics is like saying hitler was a victim. it's like hoping gorbachev would get to the blinking red button before reagan."

baby girl, that was one stupid thing to write. hitler is no joke today, tomorrow or in 2099. you should never, ever, ever go there--especially in this climate when some folks, upset over the skin tone of the presumptive democratic presidential nominee, have gone and exhumed the spirit of jim crow.

yep. hill's timing was as off as kobe bryant's jump shot in the second half of game 6. in less time than it takes a new york city cockroach to get across a room in broad daylight, espn.com readers, celtics fans and various media outlets began hurling knives at hill's head. the worldwide leader in sports claimed that the "inappropriate comments"--which were quickly extracted from hill's column-- slipped through the cracks because of some sort of editorial breakdown. it apologized to hill and her readers for letting them down.

alrighty then.

but, despite all of the conspiracy theories that some of my old sportswriting buddies have come up with in defense of hill, my best guess is that someone posted her column without reading it. and, if that's the case, i'm wondering if that careless editor has been "relieved" as well. but if someone did read it, well, this speaks volumes about the need for diversity--particularly on the copy desk.

although i once worked for espn.com as a page 3 columnist, i only hit the site about once a week so i've not read that much of hill's work. i do think, however, that this was simply an err in judgment committed by someone who is young, eager and at the top of her game. having been in that same position when i was younger i understand how screwy things can get when you're trying to live up to your own hype in an alternate universe without good editors.

hopefully, now that she'll be holidaying on earth for a while, she'll learn to choose her words more wisely. the view is a lot clearer down here.

locker mate

for life

about an hour ago i was sitting alone in a bedroom at the four seasons with one of the sexiest men alive but i wasn't in a very good space. just minutes before my interview with common, a man who will always and forever set my heart aflutter, i got word that my mother was in the hospital.

my brother gary rang with the news--what little he had. apparently she had gone to see the new doctor i had set her up with--one that was recommended by an old high school acquaintance--and was immediately sent to jewish hospital in cincinnati for tests. my best guess is that the tests were inconclusive and the attending physician admitted her for observation. she'll be examined by a neurologist in the morning.

that's about all my brother knew.

living 2,500 miles away, hearing the term "tests" and not knowing is, of course, driving me batty. on my way home from the four seasons i rang one of my gurls from college and dumped all of my stress on her weakening shoulders. she's dealing with a bed-ridden father, an active 5-year-old and a mother with a nagging sore throat.

she was there for me though, as always.

when i got home i rang my dad who had been home alone all day. he hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day with the exception of his daily cup of instant maxwell house. is that stuff still on the market? i digress. so, now i have to start worrying about him.

i rang my brother back. he was frustrated and confused and hungry and defeated. i understand. he's had the bear most of the burden that comes along with caring for aging parents, who more often than not, don't want to listen. he's ready for them to go to the home.

not on my watch. that's when i had to call my dear friend barb.

i've known barb since 7th grade. we really had no choice but to become close as our lockers were always next to each other. she was a toney, i'm a turner. i'm now thinking that was an act of god. had her name been richman, like it is now, we might have never hooked up.

i didn't much care for any of those "r" peeps.

i knew barb was something special even back in the day. she was eternally gracious, uniquely real and always looking out for the people she dug. that was a rarity at wyoming high, a predominantly white and affluent college prep school, where most people never got past the do re mi, mi, mi on the social scale. barb would help me play all those silly games girls play when they're trying to snag the boy of their dreams. she would let me copy her notes from the biology lecture i missed and would always take up for me when the boys of my nightmares tried to dis me.

some of the best times i've ever had with her was when we'd go thrift-store shopping or hit up about 25 local garage sales in a single morning. my gurl knows how to find a bargain! and then there were always those "pepsi" talks we had in her kitchen(s) while her three, extremely well-mannered kids, zipped in and out. and she was the first person to call me when i had that breast cancer scare years ago.

but it wasn't until i saw her deal with other people that i realized how truly wonderful she is. barb works with special needs kids at our alma mater. it's a beautiful thing to see her interact with them. she's so patient and kind. they adore her.

she must sleep really well at night.

and, when i went home last summer barb had moved her ailing father into her home for what would prove to be his final days. she was so gentle with him. so compassionate. i told her then that care-giving was definitely her calling.

i told her that again today.

when i started to tell her about mom, she immediately knew the right things to say. she offered, more than once, to go out to the hospital to see what she could do. then she told me just before we hung up not to worry.

"if you start to worry, call me back," she said.

because she said that i won't have to call her back. i'm much more at ease.

back in the day when i ran a high school journalism program at san francisco state, one of the first things i would always tell my kids is to make sure they get to know the people to the left and the right of them because, "one day you might be working for them."

i'd like to be working for barb someday. it might seem that i have the more glamorous life because of what i do for a living, but as i have told barb many times my work is so not important. it's not like me spending 20 minutes with common will have any kind of lasting impact on the global community. but what god has called her to do can and will.

i'm telling you this girl is a gem. i love her madly. i'm so very, very blessed that's she been in my life for the past 36 years. she's like the quintessential point guard. she makes everyone around her better.

thanks bt for all that you do, and all that you will do.

a little friday night enlightenment for a brain that's gone on an extended holiday

by the time the weekend rolls around i'm either too tired to hang out or have nowhere to go. although some folks find myriad ways to enjoy weekends in l.a., i've always found the night life here a little dull. maybe it's just me. perhaps i need to drink less red rooibos tea and more red bull.

or just move.

actually, i had really planned to tackle the heavy workload i have this weekend but writer's block--something toni morrison once told me was "your brain telling you to shut up because you have nothing to say," prevented me from making a dent in the pieces i have to write up on justin timberlake, meagan good, anne hathaway and dwayne johnson. so, since my brain was no longer functioning, i thought about just hanging out.

one possibility was the sorority mixer i had been invited to in marina del rey. but after careful consideration i determined that with the cost of gas it was waaaaaaaaaaay too risky to journey across town to attend yet another l.a. event where folks would likely be tripping. plus, after having spent most of the day in the clothes i slept in (notice, i didn't say pajamas) the thought of getting all dolled up to hang out was most unappealing.

there was also the sweet baby j'ai concert downtown. j'ai is a local jazz singer whom i've been trying to catch at the biltmore for the past month. love her but sadly, the same issues applied.

gas and clothing.

i only had like a quarter of a tank left and my good jeans were all crumpled up in the trunk of my car and would need ironing. unfortunately, ironing to me is akin to undergoing a root canal just for the hell of it. i would never do that and i've actually only pulled out my iron or someone else's three times this year--when i absolutely had to.

i'm trifling, i know. but not to worry. i have many, many other fine attributes and/or skills--like talking on the phone while i'm taking a shower. it requires a shower head attached to a hose and some strong thighs.

my third option was to stay closer to home and ride my bike over to lacma (l.a. county museum of art) and listen to some live jazz on the courtyard. this was a no-brainer since it would require no gas and i could go in my cargo shorts, obama t-shirt and thongs.

sweet.

i arrived at lacma in time to get one of the seats in front of the stage but when i'm flying solo, like i was tonight, i prefer a more panoramic view and plopped my butt down on a concrete divider already occupied by several other jazz enthusiasts.

that's when all hell broke loose. an older man, wearing sunglasses, baggy jeans and a tweed blazer, turned toward me and actually spoke.

wtf? didn't he know he was breaking the rules?! black folks in l.a. aren't supposed to acknowledge each other! as if!! what if someone saw us? reps could be ruined.

scary.

seriously, i loved that he acknowledged my presence. after a long day of logging video clips, watching cnn updates on tim russert's sudden death, faxing paperwork so i can get paid and dealing with crack-head publicists, how could i not welcome the opportunity to talk to some seemingly harmless stranger?

i took a chance.

him: "how are you?"
me: (somewhat surprised) "hey, howya doin'?"
him: "i'm good.
me: "great, glad to hear it (and i actually did mean that)."

since he had uttered about five more words than i expected to hear from some random dude on a friday night in miracle mile, i assumed that would be the end of our conversation.

not even.

him: "i just had to come out to see red (the 82-year-old saxman). i haven't seen him since the '70s."
me: "wow, i've never seen him at all."
him: "really? you haven't? he used to play at this club--the, uh, ah...it's right on the tip of my tongue (two minute pause). oh yeah, the parisian. do you remember the parisian? everybody used to come through there."

i bet they did. at my age it's not often that i can say that something was before my time, but i had never heard of that spot. and since i'm not from l.a., i'm not too familiar with all the long-gone local landmarks.

me: "oh, ok (which is my stock reply to any stranger when i don't know what the hell they're talking about)."

that marked the end of our conversation. he started talking to the people on the other side of him and shortly afterwards took off. the interracial couple that claimed his spot while it was still warm apparently knew the rules and didn't speak. about 15 minutes later red came on and blew his jaws off, but i must admit i was more caught up in my surroundings.

i couldn't take my eyes off of all the old men stepping out.

they were everywhere. most of them wore cool hats, some were stylin' in tailored linen trousers and there was one old head kicking it in a really cool vest and some jeans that fit him perfectly.

not that i was looking.

i was really just digging the way they were all getting their groove on. there's something rather orgasmic about watching old heads tap their toes to a blues tune because you know that they, moreso than anyone else, can really relate to the music. not only can they name that tune, man they've lived those lyrics.

that's kind of cool when you really, really think about it.

that experience was far more interesting than sitting at home and listening to justin timberlake ramble on about the speedo he wore in "love guru." please. don't get me started. that's another post. i'll tackle that as soon as i break through this block or borrow someone else's brain.

any volunteers?

maybe i just need to spend more time at lacma. these jazz sets roll out every friday evening from 6-9 throughout the summer. sure, there's a risk in making this commitment. i might bump into someone else who doesn't know the rules, but with mid-grade at $5 a gallon and my iron collecting dust in a kitchen cabinet, it just might be worth it, eh?

daddy's girl

make no mistake. i'm a daddy's girl and i know how to work it.

still.

but even though the days of me needing dad's ok to validate the decisions i make, or the things i write are dwindling, i sure hope he'll be honored by the words i have written here tonight.

my once strong and active dad is now a frail, yet proud and stubborn old man with congestive heart failure. there's still a twinkle in his eye and his dentures still gleam when he smiles. but much to his chagrin, he needs a walker to get around. and most days he has to wear depends because he can't get to the loo fast enough.

not much pep left in his steps.

and even though he sometimes has those "senior moments," he's still a pretty sharp cookie at 92. he's one of about six people in the country who still read a newspaper every day; and despite my constant bitching he still makes himself a cup of instant maxwell house coffee every morning to go with the bacon and eggs he's not supposed to eat. at night he sits in the den and devours a big bowl of artery-clogging, high fat vanilla ice cream while watching c-span.

makes me crazy but he's 92 and still breathing. what can you do?

throughout the years dad and i have had our "moments" but we share a love of sports (i'm so sorry i didn't take up golf a lot sooner like he wanted me to!), fast cars, polo shirts and globe trotting. i totally get my love of adventure from him. every summer we used to load up the car with my barbie dolls and our overstuffed suitcases and head to whatever city the shrine convention was. i cherished those days and i know dad did, too. i remember driving to new york in a sleek 1964 blue ford galaxy convertible, and then making our way out west for the first time in a 1976 ford ltd station wagon. always ford and more often than not, always blue.

at the time dad was working as a postal clerk and every now and then when he was quizzing me on the names of the state capitols he would talk about his days "running the road." during WWII dad was a pullman porter and was proud of the fact that he had traveled to every state on the mainland during his tenure. being a porter sounded like the best gig in the world to me but i had no idea how significant porters really were until i was an adult.

i was working for the ft. worth star-telegram out of L.A. and had been assigned to write a review on a showtime movie called "10,000 men named george." starring andre braugher, the 2002 film chronicled the contributions of porters and a. philip randolph. high up in the review i mentioned that my dad had been a porter and about three weeks later i got a call from a boston-based author who wanted to interview dad for a book he was writing on porters called "rising from the rails." it has since been made into a documentary.

that was the beginning of dad's 15 minutes.

earlier this year i got a call from a woman who works for images usa in atlanta. they were holding an event in chicago to pay tribute to the surviving porters and wanted to know if dad would be willing to come. i was absolutely elated and committed him before calling home to see if he felt up to it. he said he'd love to go if he were able. my brother, mother and i went back-and-forth on the issue for a while. mom didn't want him to go at all (end of story), and my brother wasn't sure that he was strong enough to endure a 10-hour train ride. i argued that getting out of the house would be good for him. he's a road runner. walker or no walker, he needs to run-- sometimes. finally, we all got on the same page and my brother escorted dad to chicago. regretfully, i was unable to be there because i was on assignment in south africa.

prior to their arrival in the windy city dad had already done some local media in cincinnati. in chicago he was featured on wgn and in a wonderfully written story about the event in the june 2 issue of jet magazine. below is a piece written up in the cincinnati enquirer by a friend and colleague of mine on the turner family's newest media darling.

i am still beaming. the man who once lamented that he once thought that "he was going to be somebody" finally got his due. he is and has always been somebody. i couldn't be prouder to call him dad.

happy father's day daddy. i'm heading to the driving range with my 7-iron in the ayem. i'll make you proud yet!

WILLIAM TURNER, 92, WYOMING

Interviewed by: Son Gary Dixon, Springfield Township

With Union Terminal celebrating its 75th anniversary, Cincinnati Museum Center invited retired Pullman porter Turner to make the inaugural StoryCorps recording here.

Most of the conversation with his son was about his railroad career (1941-53) out of Union Terminal.

He worked overnights, preparing sleeping quarters for passengers and caring for them until the train arrived in New York City the next morning. Turner also worked the Cincinnati-Chicago route, and some Canadian charters.

"I enjoyed being a porter because I got to see most of the country," he says. Until attending a Pullman reunion last month in Chicago, he didn't think he had done anything special. "It was a just a job, and I needed a job."

But recording an oral history was very special to his son.

"You don't think about doing something like this unless someone brings it up," says Dixon, a retired school teacher. "It's important to do this. This is who we are as humans. If you don't record the history, you don't get a perspective of what happened, and what Cincinnati was like."

enquirer photo of gary dixon and william turner by michael e. keating

RIP pat tobin

we all knew it was inevitable, but at the same time, we all thought that there was no way cancer was going to defeat the indomitable pat tobin.

i can't remember when or where i first met pat, but i do recall the impression she made on me some 12 years ago. pat was what i like to call a pistol publicist. she sucked you in with her smile, captivated you with her bubbly personality and before you knew it you had agreed to cover some toyota event in rosemead which was far, far removed from your beat.

bang. bang. you've been had baby gurl.

that was pat. you couldn't say no to her. the only way to do so was to avoid contact and that was damn near impossible because she was everywhere. parties, premieres on aisle 12 at ralph's--you name it. and it wasn't unusual to get twice weekly packets from tobin & associates that more often than not included a b/w glossy of pat in one of those grin-and-grab shots with a host of suits.

for those of us who knew her, it was heartbreaking to see this once vibrant woman suffer the way she did. conversely, it was inspiring to see that she never lost her will to fight. i'd like to believe that the cancer that claimed her life early this morning didn't really beat her. i just think pat saw an untapped market in heaven and went for it.

go get 'em girlfriend.

(photo by valerie goodloe--pat tobin, miki turner, darlene donloe at the hollywood bowl in '07)

my baby boyz

it wasn't a bad monday by l.a. standards. i mean, my road rage was kept to a minimum--meaning i didn't have to utter the f-word once (out loud); i only had to return two new malfunctioning dvd recorders to circuit city; the film junket i attended for a movie i hadn't even seen was only running 30 minutes behind; and i got some nice new assignments that hopefully won't have me pulling my locks out one by one before completion.

normally, all of the above would make me totally menopausal. but, because i talked to both my baby boyz today, all is very, very good in da hood.

i was rolling down sunset with the top down while chatting up pj, my first-ever godchild, son of my BFF&E mary radden hicks. he is the sweetest, kindest and coolest 22-year-old manchild i know. his parents reared him right. pj is currently a senior at hampton (yay pirates!), majoring in political science. i luv, luv, luv him. the above shot (right) of me and pj was taken at hampton's homecoming in '04.

about 15 minutes later i was on the phone with my other godson josh (above left at homecoming '05). he's 5 and operating on full blast 24/7. and he's so grown. today he told me it had been 100 degrees in richmond for "three whole days" and then added with one of those sighs old folks let loose whenever you ask them about their day, that it was "very, very hot." to top it off, josh then said-- without prompting from his mom, my other BFF&E charlene alexander-taylor-- "i hope you have a good day tomorrow. i love you."

i'm now good for the rest of the week. bring it on l.a.

now if i could only get some sleep...

yep, i'm a hater

every year when the final four and the nba finals come around i make these predictions based on nothing more than my disdain for one of the teams. nobody ever listens to little miki, but little miki is almost always right.

in march i told all of my ucla alum friends that the bruins would not be NCAA champions and what happened? kansas beat dey azz! all year long i've been telling all my friends who are fakers fans that the purple and gold would not win the nba title. now they're down 0-2 to the celtics, a team i've always hated, especially when i was a showtime lakers fan. but i gotta love a celtics squad with paul pierce, kg and that sweetie ray allen. i want all of them to get rings so beantown can throw them a big parade and jam up traffic in back bay.

celts in 5.

weekend woes

ok, so i'm finally coming out.

it's me, the original devodiva going against my own convictions and creating a blog for all to savor, rip apart or ignore.

it's been a pretty uneventful weekend. friday, i was one of the hosts for legendary entertainment publicist roz stevenson's retirement party. one of the most memorable moments of that evening was having my first film short screened in front of a mass audience. man, was i nervous. but it was all good. folks laughed in all the right places and no one threw cheese.

i also reconnected with ja'net dubois. you might remember her as willona from "good times." earlier this year we shared a table at a really boring-ass function saluting cathy hughes and at one point--even though i routinely boycott cash bars at these types of events--i couldn't take it any more and decided to plunk down the $11 needed for a glass of bottom shelf merlot. ms. dubois asked me if i would bring her a glass--because she was feeling similarly--and i did. when she offered to pay me for it, i wouldn't hear of it. i mean, c'mon. it's willona! she be broke! she returned the favor, however, about 20 minutes later. anyway, i never take photos with celebs--it's so, so cheesy--but she's very, very cool.

and i needed that second glass.

on saturday, i was continually tortured. first, by the length of time it took to find a reasonably priced dvd recorder. the one i own, which is barely 16 months old, has much to my chagrin and disgust, already died a premature death. when i did finally find an open-box sony model at the circuit city in culver city for a great price, not only was it incompatible with my current antiquated system, but it had a toshiba remote! oy! so, back it went to another circuit city.

as i settled down for an evening in front of the telly i was repeatedly serenaded by the woman "exercising" in the next building over. she was having what appeared to be enjoyable sex--albeit i'm not sure she was with anyone because her shrill--one that was drowning out the cnn special on 1968 i was watching--was the only voice i heard. could be that that the other person (you never know who or what so we must stay clear of suggestive pronouns) just wasn't feeling it. then my friend DB rang and said she had just had sex with a guy she's known for 20 years and well, it just wasn't worth waiting for.

life can be rough sometimes.

i can't decide if i need to get out more, or stay in. the madness is everywhere.

so, today i created this blog because i really enjoy reading the ramblings of friends and strangers. and, it's cheaper than therapy.