Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty

It will come as no surprise to anyone, I'm sure, that I am a city girl, born, and mostly bred (we'll ignore the early years in west Texan deserts and western North Carolina mountains. Speak of this to no one). I appreciate nature, but I appreciate it most from behind a healthy amount of viewing glass, not least because it all makes me sneeze mightily, but also because, frankly, I respect that a lot of the fauna has...big teeth. We don't live in a city right now, and while we don't exactly live out in the country, we *are* up in the hills of San Mateo County, and quite close to Edgewood Park, which is a smallish but nice county park. With...fauna. As in big teeth fauna. As discovered anew last night at about midnight when Gene was out walking the dogs around the corner from our house and came face to face with a mountain lion.

A MOUNTAIN. LION. Lion, from the mountain. Cougar. Puma. Whatever the hell you want to call it, it had big teeth.

Being the country boy that he is, he just stood his ground and the cat kept on its delicious venison hunting mission (BEHIND OUR HOUSE), and didn't even blink at the tasty and available medium sized dogs on pull strings (who, incidentally, apparently didn't even notice the big honking predator in their midst. Useless fleabags).

He called the sheriff, who gave him Fish & Game's number, where there is...nothing for reporting these things. You can report poaching, apparently, but not, say, semi-urban sightings. Huh.

I freely admit this whole experience rattled me a bit, even though I rationally know that there are enough deer and house cats and squirrels around here to keep even the hungriest mountain lion satiated, but oh, for a nice rabid city raccoon or a filthy pigeon. Sigh.

Surreal Like Dali With a Side of Absinthe

A friend pointed me to Overheard In Minneapolis, which is insane in its own right, but if you go to Overheard Around The World, it gets even better. It's like the cheapest, least unhealthy trip ever. I am particularly fond of this entry from Overheard In New York:

You Always Hertz the One You Love

Thug on cell: Yo, hearse rent a car? Yo man, I need to rent a hearse. Yeah, I'll hold. (pause) Y'all don't rent no hearses? Why y'all call yoselfs hearse rent a car? (pause) Word? Well, I need to move a body, maybe you got a van or something? (pause) I don't care, I just need to move his dead ass. (pause) Cargo van? Whatever. Yeah.
Thug's friend: Ask if they got am'blances.

--Grand Concourse, 158 St

I'm still laughing, because my sense of humor is felonious. See? Surrealism.

Perhaps We'll Rethink Our Stance On Public vs Private...

Note that it's a distinguished school...from 1997. The middle school where I taught was like this, a one time distinguished school from years ago - never could quite figure that one out. Though maybe the below image explains it:

Thanks to FailBlog

All Your Dollhouse Are Belong To...

Well, me. For tonight. We got Peabo a dollhouse for her upcoming second birthday, and my mom, sister, and sister in law pitched in with furniture sets and doll families to make it a real plug-and-play. Gene and I put it together tonight and as much as I loved my 2 up, 2 down-handmade-by-Grandpa dollhouse as a kid, this 8 piece modular one makes me drool. I spent a gleeful ten or fifteen minutes arranging the furniture (and it is so.cute.you.would.die), prompting Gene to take a picture of me and ask "and...whose dollhouse is this again?".

Tonight, it's mine. As of Sunday, it's hers and I will play whatever imaginary game she wants.

Warning: Cheesiness Ahead

There, you've been forewarned. Anyway, I was driving up to the city today and as I got into town, happened to see a young black man walking on an overpass over the freeway. Just a regular teenager, plugged into his iPod like every other kid out there. What struck me was, regardless of what happens in the next four years, regardless of your personal politics, a corner has been turned where maybe we can look at every child and see limitless potential...for real.

I'm going to paraphrase a line from Ratatouille, one of our favorite movies around here:

"Not everyone can become a leader...but a leader can come from anywhere"

Cheesiness off. Back to eating the kids' Hallowe'en candy.

On A Funnier Note

Peabo is quite fond of the Little Einsteins (so are we and Bean too, for that matter - good music and art), and we discovered this past weekend that she can actually ask for it by name...sort of.

Gene had ripped a DVD for his laptop and my iPhone to take with us for plane and other location entertainment, and at one point during the trip, Peabo started shouting very emphatically, "STEINS!"

Is it just me, or does it sound like she's reprimanding a kvetching couple from Palm Beach? It never fails to crack us up, at any rate.

Pyrrhic Victory

In California, we have it.

Today is a hell of a day. We fucked up. Big time.

Gobsmackery

I had of course heard for months upon months that voter turnout was expected to be at an unprecedented high this Election Day. This did not prepare me for the crowd at my polling place at 10 a.m., not to mention the friendly, efficient processing of all of us by the poll workers.

As a former U.S. history and government teacher, I can say with some certainty that I was a bit choked with national pride. Regardless of your vote, you VOTED. All I can think is, democracy, we're doing it right.

And anyway, for the record, I voted Obama and No on Prop 8 (California). I know, you're all so surprised.