There's a Rat in the Basement What Am I Gonna Do?

We have a rodent in our basement and, judging by the size of the shit he leaves behind, it's a rat. This sucks on many different fronts, namely that the basement is where all of our extra food items are stored (luckily in a metal, locked cabinet) and it's a place where I do laundry on a daily basis.

It's pretty gross, too, because I'm finding rat shit on top of the washing machine every day and it makes my skin crawl, wondering where the fucker's hiding. Is he staring at me with his beady little eyes from the rafters? Behind the dryer? What if he curls up in the laundry basket among my socks and underwear? That's just fucking nasty.

This problem just makes me mourn the loss of Aspen all the more. I mean, we still have our sweet Golden (whom Mr. Na rightfully nicknamed Fifi), but she's not Aspen. Aspen was the Mouse King.

When Aspen and I lived in Brentwood, we had a mouse move in from the 405 Freeway. He bore a hole in our sectional couch and made himself nice and comfy. Aspen was the first one to notice, especially because the mouse would sneak out in the middle of the night and poach kibble from his dog dish in the kitchen.

Aspen used to piss me off whenever he'd push something under the couch--which was on a daily basis. Our apartment had hardwood floors and the couch was just high enough off the ground for him to slip dog cookies, bones and toys underneath. He'd sit there and bark at me until I lifted up the couch so he could retrieve his prize. Sometimes I'd look and find absolutely nothing under there, but he'd remain relentless until I'd lift the couch up high enough for him to crawl completely underneath and find a microscopic piece of dog biscuit.

So I started yelling at him for taking his kibble and burying it underneath the couch. He wasn't a messy eater so I wondered why he took on this new habit of dragging kibble out from the kitchen to bury it all the way in the livingroom.

I found the hole when I went to vacuum the floor behind the couch. It was pretty big and I knew right away it came from something other than my dog. A mixture of mouse shit and kibble lay on the floor beside it.

I didn't know what to do at first, so I went to the store and looked at different mousetraps, and settled on glue traps, not really thinking about the consequences.

My bedroom was a loft above the living room and sometime in the middle of the night, Aspen bolted off the bed and ran down the stairs, barking like mad. When I turned on the lights, I saw the mouse--the little bastard--stuck on the glue pad and trying to break loose. Unfortunately, he dragged the glue pad over to the floor lamp and somehow managed to get the cord stuck on to the pad as well.

The three of us looked at each other, not knowing what to do. It was an awkward moment. Finally, I took a broom from out of a closet and I went over to the mouse and said,

"Alright, look, I'll make a deal with you. I'll let you loose outside if you swear to me that you and your homies NEVER come back. Got it?"

The mouse swore at me in his mouse language and I somehow managed to get the electrical cord free from the glue pad with the broom. I then slid the glue pad with the cursing mouse across the room and out on to the patio. The little guy only had one paw stuck on the glue pad, so I figured he still had a fighting chance. He'd either be known in his circle as a hero or a gimp--but either way, he was free.

After that, I never underestimated Aspen's ability to be a good watch dog. If he was still alive today, he'd be cleaning house. As much as I love Fifi, she's a priss and won't go down the basement steps unless we make her. Meantime, we're stuck with the rat snuggling in my gym socks.

He is Sporticus

I'm in love with a children's TV show character...again.

The first time it happened, I was, I think, four--no maybe six. I had to have been a little older because I had a diary and I can remember writing entries about him:



Not the guy on the left. Ew. And no, they weren't lovers. My guy was Butch Cassidy from Hanna Barbera's Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kids. (circa 1973). The dude on the left was his best friend, Harvey who, coincidentally, was voiced by Micky Dolenz. I say "coincidentally" because it was around that same time I was in love with Michael Nesmith from the Monkees, too. (Oh, and another thing...now that I think about it, Butch looks a lot like my ex-husband).

This time, my crush isn't over a cartoon character, but a live action guy named Sportacus on Lazy Town:

Although this Adonis deserves more real estate on my blog than given, I can't seem to find a better photo. But trust me, he's all that and a bag of chips. I'm not the only one who thinks so either. You should get a load of some of the comments I've run across in the Blogosphere. Yep--Sportacus is hot. Funny thing, though, I read the actor's bio on Nick Jr. and in reality...feh...not so hot! Granted, he was a Silver Medalist in something like Aerobics for Iceland (his homeland).

Aside from his yummy physique, Sportacus is teaching Mr. Na (and children around the world) that getting up and being active is important and eating sugary snacks...not so good. So he's perfect in every way.

Lazy Town is pretty bizarre and from the moment I first saw it, I knew it had to have been foreign (it's produced in Iceland). The show is skewed toward 2-5 year-olds yet it has a driving techno soundtrack and the main character, Stephanie, has pink hair. Still, it reminds me of the bizarre crap produced by Sid and Marty Kroft--particularly The Bugaloos and HR Puffinstuff. I would say this was a combination of both, except those shows in the 60s were more about psychadelic head trips and less about promoting a healthy lifestyle.

Honestly, though, Lazy Town is not such a bad little show--providing entertainment for the kid and eye candy for the mom.

Tales of a recovering junkie

I'm a coffee addict, I freely admit it--but I've had to give it up a few weeks ago because I was suffering from insomnia and heart palpitations. My body just couldn't stand the sudden surge of adrenaline that coffee gave me and I began living on Tylenol PM to try and sleep at night, only to repeat the cycle of drinking coffee the next morning when I woke up.

"Isn't that how Elvis died?" my friend Jade asked me last week.

Indeed.

I thought it would be so tough, quitting the "C" -- but actually, I couldn't be happier. I'm sleeping well at night--best I've slept (without a sleep aid) in months and although I still miss the smell of coffee, I don't miss the havoc it wreaked on me. And I still get a small dose of caffeine every morning, either with a 1/2 cup of chai or a cup of green tea.

My husband's a skeptic (and a fellow coffee addict). He doesn't believe that my coffee addiction is what made me wired but tired. He sent me links showing me the amount of caffeine in a 2 oz shot of espresso vs. a serving (4 oz.) of chai. The 2 oz of espresso has 100 mg of caffeine whereas the 4 oz of chai has only 30-35 mg of caffeine (The green tea chai only has 20-25 mg of caffeine). He proposed that I split the difference and make a split shot of coffee, yielding around 55 mg of caffeine per serving.

I love you, honey, but you're an enabler.

Of course, living in the coffee capital of the world, one would think I'd fall off the horse and go back to the "C". But no thanks, not me. I'm happy not to feel my heart thud in my chest at night and for the first time in months, I'm actually having dreams again, although, I can't say they've been all that great. Last night, I dreamt I was fooling around with David Cassidy (actually as the young Keith Partridge) in his dark room (which wasn't really the Partridge Family Home) in a sleeping bag on the floor. We were constantly interrupted by Danny, who, I think, wanted a piece of the action, and then by Tracy who had a flashlight and tried to crawl into the sleeping bag, blinding me with the obnoxious high beam which in reality was my Timex Big Ben Moonbeam Clock flashing at me to get out of bed for my appointment this morning.

No wonder the love of my life wants me to go back to coffee.

Apologies all around

A week has passed and the Internet is chock full o'election post moterm. So I've noted a few things that made me giggle:

Here's a site that allows people to post apologies to the world, for the big mistake the other half of the country made last Tuesday.
Kinda like apologizing to your friend for bringing your drunk boyfriend to the party, who managed to vomit all over your friend's house.

A friend of mine sent me this link today. It's pretty self-explanatory.

And finally, while I've seen various sites that represent that "re-mapping" of America, based on red and blue state divisions, this one cracked me up most:

Mr. Na experienced his first Halloween on Sunday and I'd swear the kid was a natural. Once he learned that he could score a piece of candy by saying "trick or treat" neither my husband or I could keep up with him. Luckily at his age, it was all about the thrill of the hunt and not the feast. I've seen this child on sugar and it's frightening!

The bad news is, we're sitting at home with three large bags of candy and I'm in the throes of PMS. If that isn't bad enough, Bush was re-elected for a second term. Shit happens in threes.

If you've read my earlier posts about Halloween, you'll recall that the hubster and I grew up wearing poorly-designed costumes made from either boxes or something found deep in the back of our moms' closets. We passed our tradition on to Mr. Na, creating a Thomas the Tank costume made entirely of cardboard boxes and styrofoam. I will say, since it was more his sweat and toil than mine, that the outcome was amazing. Not only was Mr. Na the spotlight of attention at our local shopping center, but I was also the envy of all moms when I boasted about my husband's talent. It's one of the reasons why I married a geek engineer.

I need to gloat about something, dammit, my hope for regime change has been shattered!

The Shoes Make The Pope

Last night at a Halloween party, I noticed a millieu of people dressed as religious figures, including the Pope, an archbishop, some wayward clergymen and a few nuns as well as angels, devils and iterations thereof.

It made me think back to a comment I made to my friend the other night as we drove home after seeing The Grudge. To me, it seems like when things are really weird in the world--with wars; presidential administrations gone awry; and a jittery economy, we tend to focus on all things "spiritual"--regardless of what that means to us as individuals and I used this as an example: do you ever notice that some of the best horror movies are made during some of the lowest points in history? When things happening in the world leave people feeling about as insecure as they do when they sit through stories about the supernatural?

To be more specific, The Exorcist came out in 1973--the same year that OPEC hiked oil prices tremendously in retaliation for Western countries' involvement in Yom Kippur War; Nixon resigned after the Watergate scandal; and granted, the Vietnam war ended for U.S. troops--but only after 23 years of wasted involvement and nearly ten years of outrage and derision from Americans. According to "InfoPlease" the Violent Crime Rate in the U.S. was 41.5 per 1,000--which was double the Violent Crime Rate 10 years earlier.

I'm not saying The Grudge was as good asThe Exorcist;but it was definitely one of the better scary movies I'd seen in ages. Forget about the slasher movies like Scream or its lame-ass sequels...I enjoy movies that touch on the supernatural--"spirits" that could quite possibly exist, like ghosts and demons. Both movies did quite well at the box office, too--so it isn't just that filmmakers are picking up on the scary vibe. People are flocking to see movies about things they aren't sure are real.

Maybe watching scary movies helps us deal with all the scary things in the world that are real; but just like the victims in these films, we have no control over who's going to do what to us next.

Please get out and vote tomorrow. It's your right to choose who's in charge!

I've just returned from the Surrey Writers Conference. It was my first time there but my third writers conference and I've come to the conclusion that I need to stop going to these things until I have a finished manuscript. I'm not learning anything new and I can't really make a connection with someone until I've got something to show. Needless to say, it was inspiring in that regard and I've made myself a promise to write new pages EVERY DAY come hell or high water. I've also vowed to have my ms finished by the end of the year--a lofty goal, but one I'm very serious about.

Anne Perry, Michael Slade and Elizabeth George were great keynote speakers. I jumped for joy when Elizabeth George announced that she thought The Davinci Code was one of the worst novels ever written. I was standing in the back of the room when she spoke, and some asswipe turned to me and sighed and said, "Just another jealous writer..."

I couldn't believe all of the groupies who followed Diana Gabaldon, Don Maas and Michael Slade around like puppy dogs. That was just about the silliest thing I'd ever seen.

But the best part of the conference was rooming with two of the loveliest women in the world! Our conversations about writing, ghosts, siblings, parents, significant others, the silly writer groupies, and hormones lasted well into the night and I swear it was the best time I'd spent with two women--ever! We talked about an idea to get all of our writer friends together for a weekend writing retreat somewhere very fun like on a coast or like in Savannah so we could do what we love doing together--writing!

Mad Monster Party

I'm a sucker for the old Rankin/Bass TV specials, but my favorite--which happens to be my favorite Halloween movie--is Mad Monster Party?
The "animagic" in the show is a little clunkier than, say, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer or Santa Claus is Coming to Town, but the characters are so awesome and the soundtrack is pure kitsch from the late 60s.

The legendary Boris Karloff lends his voice as Baron von Frankenstein and Phyllis Diller voices "Thang's" wife, who has that unforgettable laugh and is decked out in Go-Go boots.

Someone actually gave me the movie on VHS as a gift several years ago and when I saw that it had been reissued on DVD, I couldn't wait to get it and watch it with Mr. Na--who's fast becoming a fan! The DVD version is amazing, too, which makes watching it even more pleasurable!

I think I'm the only person I know who gets stressed out over Halloween, and it's been that way for me for as long as I can remember. I usually have a tough time trying to pick out a suitable costume--and then I create one out of a hodge-podge of crap which is usually what I end up looking like.

I think my hodge-podge tendencies stemmed from my parents. In 1974, they dressed me in a wig, put bright red rouge circles on my cheeks and some gawd-awful skirt and blouse combo three-sizes too big so that I could march in the annual Ragamuffin parade. Unfortunately, they took the name of the parade literally and dressed me up as a frigging Ragamuffin. If you're unsure what that looks like, here's an example:




So to carry on with my inherited hodge-podgerie, one year, I decided to go as a housewife, only to have the cold cream on my face freeze into a solid mass, while my skin itched uncontrollably underneath.

In 1982, I decided to go as one of these chicks:
from A Flock of Seagull's "I Ran" video. I used a black Glad trash bag and red lipstick on my face--creating an oily mess, which, again, felt uncomfortable in the cold air.

Manufactured costumes were not much better than the shit I threw together, either. I can remember the Frankenstein costume I had as a child. It doubled as pajamas that glowed in the dark and came with a plastic mask that made me drool from behind the tiny slit used as a mouth.

It's interesting trying to teach our two year-old about Halloween. At this point, all he knows is that there's quite a bit of candy sitting around the house that gets used as negotiating tools when he refuses to eat his dinner. But today, he sensed something was up when Papa took a few Huggies boxes and began cutting and rigging them together. He immediately recognized the shape of a choo-choo and shrieked with delight as Papa fitted him for accuracy. Yes--we're slapping shit together, just like we did when we were kids; only this time, my incredibly talented husband is going to make the best costume on the planet for a toddler: Thomas the Tank. God willing!

Meanwhile, I'm struggling with our costume idea: going as Dexter and Dee Dee. It sucks, too, because we've been invited to a few costume parties this year and while I really don't want to go as Dee Dee, I'm too exhausted to think of anything else.

Maybe I'll snack on a few negotiating tools while I brainstorm.

More Jabs From Jib Jab

If you thought Jib Jab's "This Land" short was funny, you should check out their latest endeavor, "Good to Be in D.C."

Tickle me, Elmo

Ever wonder what you could do if you beheaded and skinned a whole bunch of Elmo dolls? Here's an idea.

Picture of the week

This is just the coolest!

Bill Shatner with Ben Folds and Henry Rollins

I'm looking forward to William Shatner's new album "Common People" featuring Ben Folds, Aimee Mann, Henry Rollins, Adrian Bellew and Joe Jackson. It'll be out on October 5!

I have a running list of who--if given the choice--I could have chosen to be my Dad and Bill Shatner's in the top 10!

Is it Safe?

I'm sure everyone is going to be writing in their blogs tonight about the debate and who they hated more and why. So I've decided to write about who I hate--outside of the presidential candidates--my dentist.

I don't actually hate my dentist per se--I mean he's a pretty decent guy. It's his hygienist I hate because she's the one who inflicts pain upon me. She's evil. EVIL I tell you. E-V-I-L!

It's only been within the last eight years that I've been really dilligent about seeing a dentist every six months and flossing my teeth. But the reason why I'm so anal about it now is because the first time I went after a long hiatus, they measured my gum pockets to be wider than the Grand Canyon. So, I do my penance every six months and go in for my routine cleaning and exam--and the gums have definitely gotten better except now middle age is sinking in and all the clinching I've been doing in my sleep and throughout my career and in taking care of a toddler has taken its toll, causing me to feel pain in my upper right incisor to the point where it feels like I am constantly sucking on a 9 volt battery.

My dentist has three or four hygienists in his office and I usually book my appointments with the kinder, gentler persuasion so I can avoid the woman I fondly refer to as the Bitch of Buchenwald. But I recently had to reschedule my appointment and the only time slot available was with BoB--and so I spent 90 minutes in the chair of death while she shamed me for not flossing properly.

Don't get me wrong--BoB's a nice lady and I'm sure her Teuton looks have nothing to do with the fact she's a sadist. It's just that she wields her "gentle" ultra-sonic cleaning tool as if there's a war inside my mouth and the plaque she's fighting wants to overthrow the regime.

I writhed beneath BoB, eyes shut, as beads of sweat formed on my head while thoughts of Dustin Hoffman in Marathon Man danced in my head. "Find your happy place, find your happy place," I cried inside while Chuck Mangione wafted through the room--above the drone of BoB's weapon. I hate Chuck Mangione. I hate Smooth Jazz. I hate BoB and I hate the chair of death.

Alas, she clicked the tool "off" and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was safe again.

Two things to note today: A) I FINALLY finished the piece I want to submit to the parenting anthology. Wish me luck; B) Chimpy made the front page of McSweeney's. Oh that man of mine...is there anything that he can't do?

Smile! I see you!

Ever wonder who's reading your blog?

I do and I use Site Meter to track who my readers are.

It's just nice to see where everyone's from--and I even have a few people who visit me about once a week. (Hi to the person at the EPA or Ameritech! Hi Poppy!)

Today I had a reader from Whole Foods. (I LOVE your store and used to do PR for you! Sustainable fishing anyone?)

I just wanna say "thanks" for reading! I don't know how you stumbled across my site, but I'm glad you found me!

Old Life + New Life = Sheer Exhaustion

We adopted our son from Ukraine this past January when he was 19 months old. Needless to say, I'm a relatively "new mom" and I've spent the last nine months at home getting to know him and seeing him flourish from a tiny, malnourished baby to a bright, beautiful and active little two year-old boy who, at the moment, is singing the "Backpack" song from Dora the Explorer.

Prior to finding our son, I spent 16 years in advertising and PR--fields which, in my opinion, are better left for 20-somethings who have more drive, ambition, and that inner gooey, rubbery stuff we all possess at a young age that enables shit to literally bounce right off of us. I was pretty happy to get out of the business--though I managed to work on a few cool accounts and was able to "retire" somewhat fulfilled.

During these last few months, though, I've discovered that when my former life interferes with my current life, it's as if two worlds are colliding and I'm caught right in the middle.

For example, a few days ago, a former client of mine representing one of the world's largest food manufacturers called me up and asked me to help out on a project they were working on. They needed someone so desperately they didn't care that I'd be working from home in my Paul Frank jammies with my little guy ramming our dog with his Mega Bloc dump truck in the background.

So there I was--on the phone with one of the top radio stations in NYC, trying to negotiate a radio buy and basically trying to sound in control when all of a sudden my son finds me in my hiding spot on the other side of the house yelling, "MAAAAAAAA-MAAAAA! Maaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh-maaaaaaaaah! There she is! Hi Mama!"

The radio rep on the other end just sniggered...and I knew he was going to be a bastard on the final deal. I was pretty embarrassed.

"Can you tell I work out of my house?" I asked innocently.
"Um, yeah. But you're lucky!" he replied.

Don't get me wrong--I love being a stay-at-home mom and I love my son to pieces. In theory, it gives me time to write...which in theory, is what I do. But I haven't exactly yet found my groove. This mommy business is hard work! Really hard! Bless you mamas who have MORE THAN ONE because I am exhausted with just the one

I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow...

According to Associated Press, Yusuf Islam, the man known to the world as singer/songwriter Cat Stevens, was denied entry into the U.S. today on a flight from London.

It was reported that Islam was traveling to the U.S. to promote his new DVD of his 1976 Majikat Tour.

Islam had recently re-recorded his 1970 hit "Peace Train" in opposition of the U.S. war on Iraq--however, he has openly criticized the September 11 attacks and the most recent hostage situation in Beslan, Russia.

Though I am not a big fan of Cat Stevens, this story made me sick inside.

The Patriot Act strikes again.

Cat Stevens - Moon Shadow Lyrics
Yes
I'm bein' followed by a moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow.
Leapin' and hoppin' on a moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow.
And if I ever lose my hands
lose my power
lose my land -
Oh
if I ever lose my hands

Ooh
I won't have to work no more.
And if I ever lose my eyes
if my colours all run dry

Yes
if I ever lose my eyes

Ooh
I won't have to cry no more.

Yes
I'm bein' followed by a moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow.
Leapin' and hoppin' on a moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow.
And if I ever lose my legs
I won't moan and I won't beg

Oh
if I ever lose my legs

Ooh
I won't have to walk no more.
And if I ever lose my mouth
all my teeth North and South

Yes
if I ever lose my mouth

Ooh
I won't have to talk.

Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.
Did it take long to find me and are you gonna stay the night?

I'm bein' followed by a moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow.
Leapin' und hoppin' on a moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow.
Moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow
moon shadow.

Vacation, all I ever wanted...

For the last six years my husband and I have retreated to one of the prettiest patches of Pacific Northwest coastline for a week of R&R.

Aside from taking the dog for a swim in the ocean, there isn't a whole hell of a lot to do, especially in September, when the weather can range from nice and sunny to gloomy to terrential downpour. So our "R&R" entails little more than hours of reading, writing, nookie and a daily stroll on the sand.

This was the first year we brought Mr. Na to the beach--something we both looked forward to for a long, long time. I don't want to say we had a "bad" time because that would sound too harsh--but we had a "different" time. There's no such thing as "quiet time" with a two year-old around, that's for sure! So of the above mentioned beach activities, we managed to get a lot of, uh, reading done...between 2-5 p.m. and after 9 p.m.

I'd rather be swimming in the ocean, thank you!


Actually, all bitching aside, I had fun flying kites!

Cuz we are surfin'...surfin' on the World Wide Web

Wanna know the top 30 most mistake-filled movies? Wanna see which DVDs have Easter Eggs hidden in them? Then check out Movie Mistakes online.


I personally loved seeing the gas cannister on the back of a chariot during the film Gladiator.

New rule of the day...never go to a double feature of scary movies and expect to get a full night's rest when you get home!

Yes, it's true...I am 36 and I slept with the light on last night. Shut up.

Jade and I saw Open Water and the Exorcist-The Beginning. Of the two, Open Water was the movie that scared the freaking shit out of me while watching it. It just seemed so real and put me into the "what would I do?" mode the entire time.

The Exorcist-The Beginning, on the other hand, sucked major ass. It wasn't scary at all--yet that was the movie that kept me awake all night with the lights on. Why? Well, let me put it this way: demon possession is one of those things where, I don't know if it's real, but if I found out it was, it would be the hard way either by being possessed myself, or knowing someone who was...and don't you think that'd really be a sucky way of finding out?

So last night after the movies, I was lying in bed alone, since my dear hubby had a sour stomach after eating the rest of the Trader Joe's Dunkers (serves you right you bastard) and is on the couch in the den supposedly studying but really reading the new Dave Eggers anthology personalized by Dave who wrote: "thank you, thank you, thank you for contributing some of the best goddamn work..." (for McSweeney's) and signing it "your mentee" (and I realize I am paraphrasing here since I can't find the actual book now--probably because C took it with him to either a) show it off at work; and/or b) is carefully preserving it in his laptop bag instead of having mine or our son's grubby hands mucking it up...and all I keep thinking of is that if I turn off the light, some crazy-ass demon is going to spider-climb my walls into my bedroom and scare the shit out of me and I can't let that happen or else I won't sleep and if I don't sleep I'll be worthless trying to tote Mr. Na around all day and entertain him because he expects me to be frigging Bob Hope all the time...but as it turns out I can't sleep with the light on either so I wonder if I'm better off trying to finish reading Rabbit Redux, which, by the way, is pretty good or just trying to get into a good position to fall asleep--which isn't working because the more I toss and turn, the tighter my silk pajamas get--so much so that I'm giving myself a major wedgie.

So then, of course, I try and talk myself out of leaving the light on and I shut it off only to remember the movie trailer I saw for Ju-On earlier in the afternoon where the little boy ghost sits on the bed while the woman sleeps...so now I'm thinking there's this little Asian boy on the foot of my bed which is why the dog jumped down and if I open my eyes, he'll have his beady little ghost eyes fixed on me.

Sometime after 5 a.m. I managed to fall asleep (with the light on).

On the plus side, my finest material is written on the shortest amount of sleep. Maybe it's giddiness...or maybe my internal editor is too groggy to give a shit about what I write...

So I was having drinks tonight with Dave Eggers...no seriously, in fact, my dear hubby bought a pitcher for the table. Never mind the fact he was with 20 other people...he drank our beer so now he's considered family.

Alright, let me back track by saying that I and my wonderfully talented writer friends went to see Dave Eggers speak tonight at the U Bookstore. He was promoting his latest collection with two local contributors. Afterwards, we met up with him at a local watering hole.

Like Ben Folds, Dave also strikes me as the kind of guy friend I should have had in high school (see my post about Ben). What can I say--I'm a sucker for dry wit--which is probably why I love my husband so much (though he's driving me up a fucking wall about the fact that he's had two lists already published on Mcsweeney's website).

So I'm a little bummed we didn't get to chat all that much. When he said goodbye to me and C, I said "I'm so glad we at least had a chance to catch up..." but really, I had so many burning questions left unanswered like:
1) Who does the Golden Retriever actually belong to? and
2) What exactly did you draw on the inside cover of my copy of AHWOSG?

I guess they'll remain unanswered until next time!