Blackout

At about 4:45 pm last Friday the lights flickered at the place I was working. I heard somebody shout "SAVE SAVE SAVE!" I quickly pressed Apple (Command) + S (that's Control [not Windows] + S for you PC-based folks) and saw the beach ball spin for a few and then went away. Whew!

Around an hour later I got a phone call from Lily. She was wondering when I was gonna head out and she told me that the power was out at home. I decided to go home right then to perfrom my husbandly duty of protecting the house from marauders, thieves and villains during the unlikely event of a power outage.

I grabbed my bike and shouted "SAVE SAVE SAVE" to the remaining worker bees. "My wife just told me the power went out in our neighborhood, which isn't far from here." Somebody shouted "THANKS THANKS THANKS!"

Being that this place is on the 2nd floor and has an awkwardly winding staircase, I take my bike up and down in the elevator. I pressed the down button, then I remembered Lily telling me the power was out. I turned toward the awkwardly winding staircase, lifted my bike onto my right shoulder and walked down. About two thirds of the way down the power went out.

Think about that the next time you want to take the elevator for a flight or two.

Monsters of sock

Actual conversation I had at Walgreen's while looking for sterile Q-tips:

I look over and see a man mumbling to himself while scooping through a bin of white tube socks.

Man: Are these all the socks they have?

He sees that I look over, and I quickly turn back to the Q-tip selection.

Man: These don't seem like very good quality.

LLMB: Nope.

Man: They're pretty cheap though. Must not be very good.

LLMB: No.

Man: You know which socks are good? Adidas. I bought a pair of those, lasted me four months.

LLMB: Wow. (Only four months?)

Man: Those socks were expensive though. I bet these don't last too long.

LLMB: Yeah.

Man: Maybe there's some different socks at the bottom of this pile.

LLMB: Probably.

I left and went to Safeway where I saw a man standing in the entrance area who had a white surgical face mask pulled down from his mouth. He was coughing incessantly without covering his mouth. I had to take a serious detour to get around his coughing.

Hot Diggety

One thing I never realized before I had a kid was that when you have a baby, you lose your ability to take the time to savor a good meal. It's scarf-ville from here on out. Well at least until Judah's old enough to have parties and raid my liquor cabinet. I chow my food as quickly as possible so Lily can eat, or vice-versa. The sands in the hourglass are always almost out when you've got a baby nearby. One false move and it's WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Time to put the fork down.

Having mastered this little food bingeing activity, I went to the Giants home opener at AT&T&S&B&C park on Tuesday. There was a hot dog eating contest sponsored by Hot Dog on a Stick, and I knew this was my time to shine. The problem was the fact that I can't eat hot dogs. Can't stand 'em. But a corn dog, well that's a whole different story. Especially those Trader Joe's meatless corn dogs. Tastes like the real thing with less guilt (except for the sodium part. Mmm... sodium).

I looked over the competition and I knew I didn't have a chance when I saw hot dog eating champ Takeru Kobayashi of Japan doing warm-up stretches in the wings. So I went over to the officiant with a proposal. "If I eat corn dogs instead of hot dogs, but still wrapped in a bun like a hot dog, will I be declared champion if I come in 2nd?"
The official looked at me quizzically and asked "Why would we do that?"
"Because there's all that extra bread with a corn dog."
The official leaned over to the other official and whispered.
I waited.
They nodded in agreement. "We'll allow it."
"Woo hoo!"

Lily stood nearby holding Judah, who hadn't eaten in 2.5 hours and would imminently be crying, thus proving the fuel for my corn dog inhalation.
"Go!" they shouted and the gun went off.
I chewed as fast as I could, frequently glancing over at Judah to push me along further. He started wailing and I ate even faster. A few minutes later the jock-ish guy to my left puked on my new blue Pumas. I kept on chowing. Kobayashi was downing wieners at a record pace. I ate faster and felt good about my chances of getting 2nd place. I ate faster and felt bad about my chances of ever eating another dog of any kind, corn or otherwise.

"BANG!" The gun went off again. "TIME!" yelled the official. I slumped over and saw Lily give Judah a bottle. Kobayashi finished 1st with 51 wieners in 12 minutes. Just shy of his personal best of 53.5 dogs in 12 minutes. I waddled over to the podium. "And 2nd place goes to... Jenna Jamison!" It was a devastating blow (pun intended). Beaten by a porn queen. How humiliating.

This is the end, beautiful friend

Well, this is the final installment of "Lee Lee the Musical Bee". I want to thank the TNSC robots for giving me a forum to blather on about anything I wanted to. And personal thanks to the probably three people who read "Lee Lee the Musical Bee" on a somewhat regular basis. I especially enjoyed it whenever somebody would e-mail or IM me and tell me that they almost peed their pants. Nothing is as magical as the ability to make somebody laugh so hard as to pee their pants. If that were a superpower, I think that's the one I would choose. And then the ability to magically make their pants clean again. Because people would get mad at me and not want to hang out with me as much. Anyways, I hope y'all have enjoyed at least one of my rants/blogs/whatevers.

One final quote from Henry Adams:

No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous.

This is the end, beautiful friend

Well, this is the final installment of "Lee Lee the Musical Bee". I want to thank the TNSC robots for giving me a forum to blather on about anything I wanted to. And personal thanks to the probably three people who read "Lee Lee the Musical Bee" on a somewhat regular basis. I especially enjoyed it whenever somebody would e-mail or IM me and tell me that they almost peed their pants. Nothing is as magical as the ability to make somebody laugh so hard as to pee their pants. If that were a superpower, I think that's the one I would choose. And then the ability to magically make their pants clean again. Because people would get mad at me and not want to hang out with me as much. Anyways, I hope y'all have enjoyed at least one of my rants/blogs/whatevers.

One final quote from Henry Adams:

No one means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous.

Recipe for disaster

Ingredients:

- 1 Bad work week
- 0 Meals since breakfast
- 2 Fights with significant other
- 1 Weeknight, with work the next morning
- 1 High school/college pal in town, preferably having just broken up with/divorced their significant other
- 3 Transfers on public transportation
- 3 Hours until last call
- 1 Utter disdain for the rule of "liquor before beer, never fear; beer before liquor, never sicker"
- 10 or more alcoholic beverages
- 3 Massive bong hits
- 1 Call time earlier than 8 am
- 0 Aspirin in the house


Preparation:

Using as little foresight as possible, prepare the Bad work week, Weeknight, Fights, Transfers on public transportation and nonexistent Meals in a bowl. Stir until blended thoroughly. Simmer over low heat in a large stock pot.

Add the High school/college pal and turn heat to high. Pour in the Utter disdain for rule and 10 or more alcoholic beverages. Cook uncovered for the 3 hours until last call.

Turn heat to simmer and top with 3 Massive bong hits. Remove from heat.
Sprinkle with the Earlier than 8 am call time and 0 Aspirin.

Serve on a porcelain altar. Bon appetit!

A Star is Born

Sitting in this week for Lee Lee the Musical Bee is Judah on his 3-month old birthday. Thanks Judah!

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The upload photos function ain't workin'. Check the mirror site.

therein-lies

I went to a dinner party not too long ago, and one of the readers of Lee Lee the Musical Bee asked someone if they'd read it. She said no. The reader then said something to the effect of "It's great, but IT'S ALL LIES." She asked me "Like the one where you're riding your bike and you spank the homeless guy on the ass?" I informed her that that was the truth.

In some installments of Lee Lee the Musical Bee, I have fabricated stories. In writing, this is referred to as "fiction". It is not called lying. Can you imagine? "We went to see the Matrix and that shit was dope! But it was all a LIE!" No. We all agree that that story is far too fantastical to be reality, and we don't treat it as such.

I realize that some of the writings in this space seem so similar to the truth that they could be fact, in fact. Several readers routinely contact me to inquire whether the story they'd read really happened. So I've made the decision to never again tell lies in LLMB. Everything you (the reader) read here will forever be the truth:

The other day I woke up refreshed and well-rested. I went upstairs and pressed the power button on our Dell Dimension as I walked by on my way to make a pot of decaf. I sat down and began reading the headlines on the Fox News website. Suddenly a hummingbird burst through our screen door and hovered 2 feet away from my coffee mug.

"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope" the hummingbird pleaded in a female voice. I gagged and accidentally spit my coffee on the hummingbird from laughing so hard. "You've gotta be shitting me" I said. The hummingbird said it again "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope". I took another swig of decaf and turned back to the monitor to read.

"Musical Bee, you are the only one who can save the earth" the hummingbird said.
I almost spit my coffee out again. "You gotta be shitting me." I replied.
The hummingbird continued, "You must fly to galaxy G12 and stop your evil twin - the mastermind Rondel - from sending a massive asteroid which will destroy the earth. Take this pill."
The hummingbird gagged up a worm that landed on my desk.
"I'm not eating that." I told the bird.
The hummingbird pleaded "You must in order to save our earth. Please?"
"That's not a pill, it's a worm."
"It is a pill."
"Um. No, pills don't writhe and squirm like that."
"This one does."
I thought about it for a second and said "Okay." I downed the worm pill, and it tasted like tequila. "You fucker" I said to the hummingbird as it flew away.

I went outside to our deck and - still in my pajamas and slippers - I pointed my right arm to the sky a la Superman and suddenly monkeys flew out of my butt and propelled me into the air. I barely missed an AirFrance commercial jet as I surged into the atmosphere.

Soon I found myself at galaxy G12. I landed and took in my surroundings. Exactly the same as earth except all the people were characters from movies and television.
Hummingbirds surrounded me, picked me up by my pajamas and flew me toward a huge mansion that looked eerily similar to the one on the TV show "Joe Millionaire".

A guy who looked exactly like me walked out of an upper balcony in his pajamas. Except the pajama colors were the inverse of mine. He was sipping from a coffee mug that had the Final Cut Pro icon on the side of it. I realized this must be the evil mastermind Rondel. He turned his gaze from the distance and onto me.
"What the hell are you doing? Where's my breakfast?"
I looked down at my clothing and it had changed into a chef's uniform.

"Yes sir, breakfast comin' right up!" I hustled into the mansion's kitchen and started making a meal. I made what I knew he'd like because I hated it: Eggplant Parmigiana with cilantro and dill. I served it to the evil mastermind Rondel and he gobbled it right up. He started choking and tore his fork through his food. I had hidden a chunk of my favorite desert (key lime pie) in the middle. His head exploded all over the dining room.

I pointed my right arm toward the sky again and monkeys flew out of my butt again, propelling me into the blah blah blah. I landed at home at precisely one minute after I had left. I grabbed all the cash growing on my money tree and went down to BALCO labs to try to buy some "clear" to stop any more monkeys from flying out.

And that's the truth.

Under Six Feet

We've been watching the hit HBO series "Six Feet Under" via Netflix. I know, we're way behind the times, but we don't have HBO.

Lily thinks I look like Federico. I say no way.
What do you think?


Federico




Me

Go!

I use the timer on the microwave for almost everything at home. Can't possibly leave it up to looking at the clock. I'll miss the mark every single time. I time my french press coffee brew. I time the rice cooking. I time the warmer for Judah's bottles. I even used the timer to see how long it takes for him to down 2 oz.: 10 minutes last time I checked.

Lately I've been using timer widgets on the computer. I still haven't found a nice interface yet. But I like the one called "Simple Timer". It has a little cartoon clock face that comes up with the words of whatever I typed in for it to say when the timer goes off. Like "eat!". Or "call!" Or "go!"

No freakin idea why the time is so important to be right on the dot. Lily does things without the timer and they turn out fine, if not better than my timer'd method. I guess it has to do with my need for efficiency: So I can figure out exactly how long it will take any given event to happen, so I can factor that into the day's master plan.

Good thing I don't wear a watch. Especially one with a second hand or a timer on it. Because then I could take my obsession with timing everywhere. I hope at least one of you out in LLMB readership land will time how long it took to read this week's entry. I'll be timing how long it takes for somebody to get back to me with the result.

Chutes Too Narrow

We have a spiral staircase in our house. Black iron. It's the second straight house I've lived in that has had a spiral staircase. But this one is much more narrow than the last one. So much so that it can be a truly treacherous experience if you're carrying anything. Or if you have a J.Lo size booty.

Well, now that we have another body in the house, I find myself regularly carrying Judah up and down the spiral staircase. Seriously dangerous. Squirming baby in both arms while ascending or descending. Unable to hold the handrail. The changing table is downstairs, so every time the diaper needs to be changed we need to go downstairs.

For whatever reason: clumsiness or fatigue or whatever, I've banged my right shin on the bottom step of the spiral staircase almost every time since December. It's resulted in my right shin becoming bruised in about a 4 inch by 4 inch area on the lower part of my leg. I guess it's holding a baby and trying to ensure that I don't miss the bottom step as I go up, I inadvertently feel my way for that step and end up slamming my shin against it.

The first couple of times it hurt so bad that I wanted to yell "MOTHERFUCKER", but I also didn't want to stress Judah out or wake him up if he was asleep. So I wound up mouthing "MOTHERFUCKER" and biting my lip. It didn't take long for the right shin to become sort of numb to the injury. Later I'd hear the clang of my shin hitting the iron step and wonder what it was. Then the tingle of what I suppose was pain would remind me that my shin hit the step.

And then I noticed something. One day I had to clean up some used coffee grounds that I'd spilled on the rug while trying to make decaf for Lily, so I went for the dustbuster which is behind the bottom step of the spiral staircase. The step had a dent in it. I felt the dent with my hand and it was about 4 inches wide in a angled shape. I knew what it was so I put my right shin against the curve. Perfect fit. I reached down for my shin and it felt as hard as the iron step. And the bruise was now just as black.

I was horrified. Should I go to the doctor? Should I call the landlord? I decided I'd better go to the medicine aisle at Safeway and look at my immediate options. As I hurried down 14th street, I wondered how much a new iron step for a spiral staircase would cost. Would I have to buy a whole new staircase? My landlord would probably think so.

The light at Church and 14th seemed like it took forever. The J Church pulled up to the intersection and let a few people off, then moseyed through Market street. The crosswalk finally said walk. I neglected to notice the SUV behind the train trying to run the red light. It came to a screeching halt, but I was already hastily stepping off the curb. My shin hit the Porsche Cayenne with a loud thud.

The man driving the Porsche quickly flung his door open. "Oh Jesus. Hang on... wait, no, I'm gonna have to call you back. Bye." He flipped his cell phone closed. I looked down at the point where the car hit my shin and there was a small but noticeable dent. "Oh my god. Are you ok?" he asked as he came toward me. He wasn't really looking me in the eye, but scanning the Porsche. I wondered if he was talking to me or the car. I was stunned, but not in shock. "Yeah. I'm fine. Look I gotta go..." The man spotted the dent and immediately became outraged. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO MY CAR YOU FUCKING FREAK?!?!?!!!!" He became exasperated and flipped open his phone and said "LAWYER", I suppose to voice dial. I looked at the dent and then my shin and started laughing. I ran off to Safeway and I could hear the Porsche man yelling "HEY!! GET BACK HERE YOU FREAK!!!!" People behind him were honking. I know what my superpower is now: IronShin.

One for the thumb

If you don't want to hear any more whining about the SuperBowl, stop reading now.



I've read too many articles this week about how the referees in SuperBowl XL affected the course of the game. If you saw the game, you know they did. I won't go over the specific plays (It would make me vomit for the 10th time this week if I did), but again, if you saw the game you know what they were.

There are enough journalists on ESPN and Fox Sports who are speaking out to the effect of "THE REFS COMPLETELY FUCKED UP AND SHOULDN'T BE ALLOWED TO DO ANYTHING BUT WIPE THE ASSES OF MIKE HOLMGREN AND EVERY OTHER SEAHAWK ON THE SQUAD AT SUPERBOWL XL UNTIL THEY DIE." Well, the sports writers didn't exactly say anything resembling that, but they did cop to the fact that the refs played a deciding factor in the game. And that shouldn't happen.

Basically, if as many bad calls went against the Steelers, then the Seahawks win. Simple as that. I'm really tired of hearing "The Steelers won the game. That's it!" Well no shit. Seems that the media (and everybody else who doesn't see how the wrong team won the game) now believes that the definition of a champion is not only one who overcomes the foe, but that also overcomes whatever other adversity is there too (i.e. the referees). So why don't we just start the next championship game with one team down 20 points? If the down team were able to overcome that, then they'd truly be a champion.

Even the writers who previously thought the Seahawks didn't belong in the same room with the Steelers now agree that Seattle was robbed.

The Steelers fans probably wish the refs didn't play such a big role either. They probably want to know that they won fair and square. Or maybe not. They have the trophy.
Whining stops here.
Go [Whoever The Refs Fuck Over the Least]!

Chilean Toilet About Celia

Look at your domain details
Irena, on Tracy disturbance
and bring so distinguish trefoil
He do of unroll lecherous peek

Sexy baby and bad erection?
We'll like our apartment better if we get this started.
Rollick in the hay like when you were young. seedling
Make your wife remember the good old days. capitoline
Shock resistance Lap Timer

it Hailee, it's suck
the Dolf, see perpendicular
You fit no packer
Aldous, the destruct mollie
or Vale, Ole the transference
her fly no imagination
his wait no alphabetical ministry

Atlanta, may sorrel guam
Pogrom, and grandstand
are make muscle finery
as shut as tourist rockbound renaissance
Eliminate all weakness and become the king!

Motorola is alginate with Domingo
Try Jamie a barbituate
anti de-pressants
Canadian Pharmaciy
Unique offers on the top health goods, huge discounts!
More telephone numbers than you can shake a stick at

Oyster yellow gold
it's Aubery but gabon
am proud of you, my dear. So far, so good. Now, Trot and Agnes,
on finish of antler
Cease being green-eyed and sport a new gift set.
It's all yours -- Beautify your wrist with a chic style.


The preceding was composed entirely of some of the subject lines of the more than 200 spam e-mails I received in the last week.

wherein-lies

My son Judah was born on a Thursday. He asked me a funny question about TNSC the other day:

Judah: "Old man? Where do I find the venue announcement for Thursday Night Social Club?"
Lee: "Aren't you on the e-mail list?"
Judah: "I'm too little for e-mail. And you haven't signed me up for an e-mail account yet."
Lee: "Oh. It's: therein-lies.com"
Judah: "Got it. I went to tnsc.com and got some 'site under construction' thing. Then I went to tnsc.org and got some 'site is currently being revised' thing.
Then I went to tnsc.net and found 'The Network Support Company'. I knew that couldn't be it because there wasn't any talk about drinking or anything."
Lee: "Right. It's therein-lies.com"
Judah: "Got it."
Lee: "Great. Where is it tonight?"
Judah: "Hang on. Why do I have to click through a couple o' sites that have nothing but another link to the real site? I don't even understand what those dancers mean."
Lee: "Um... Go ask your mother."

Cut the crap

Apparently we in San Francisco are the 11th meanest to the homeless in the nation. This has nothing to do with the general public's meanness, but instead the meanness of the policies that work against the homeless. We were 8th in 2004. Now we're 11th. Sarasota, Florida is number 1. I'm sure that a lot of San Franciscans don't like the thought of even being #11.

Just the other day in my neighborhood I walked past a bunch of somebody's crap in a shopping cart (pretty standard), then walked by a pile of somebody's crap. Definitely not dog crap. I know what that stuff looks like, I live right near Duboce Park - the Paris of San Francisco in terms of dogshit per square foot on the sidewalk.

Back to the human shit on the sidewalk. I'm sure we've all seen it in one place or another in our fair City. Probably next to some plastic bag or whatever they used to wipe their asses afterwards (another clue that it's not a huge dogshit). Seems like whichever person without a home and thus a bathroom to crap in doesn't really take his neighbors into consideration when squatting. It might even be seen as being mean to subject the surrounding neighborhood to his or her feces. Probably doesn't have happy thoughts about The City in general while taking a dump on the street.

San Francisco is #11 in the "mean to homeless" category. On its face, that sounds like we really ought to be nicer to them. And invite more of them here. And more of their shit.

Should I stay or should I go?

Ever get a nosebleed in the shower? It's the most odd place to get a nosebleed (not that getting a nosebleed in any other place is common) because there's always this sense of "should I get out of the shower now or should I just stand here and plug my nose until it goes away?"

Getting a nosebleed in the shower always reminds me of the shower scene in Psycho. But in color. And without the scary knife coming through the shower curtain. But the blood thing all over the place, that reminds me of Psycho. And then I usually wonder if Hitchcock got a nosebleed in the shower and that's where he came up with the idea for one of the most famous and memorable scenes in all of cinema.

Once the nosebleed starts, it's kind of too late to stop it from getting more than a few drops all over the place. Can't really get tissue paper to plug the nostril because it will get all wet and fall out anyway. Don't really want to get blood all over the towels. So invariably I press my finger on the outside of the bleeding nostril and press it against the septum.

Standing there in the shower wondering when it's safe to get out.
Ah, what a conundrum.

Apple store adventures - part 4

(This is really Apple store adventures - part 5, but I didn't report part 4 when it happened, so this is part 4. Not the actual part 4, but this one is part 5 which will be called part 4.)

I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't let Lee Lee the Musical Bee turn into a parent column, now that I've added "parent" to the list of roles I fill. So I'll keep the references to consistency of baby poop to a minimum.

On top of learning to deal with life as a sleep-deprived zombie, last week my desktop computer monitor went on the fritz, my cell phone died, and I found a new infestation of ants in my home. All on the same day. Perfect.

On Wednesday, we noticed a blue line on the left third of our monitor. Phoned AppleCare and went through the standard "turn it off, unplug peripherals, turn it on, zap PRAM" rigamarole with the Apple customer service rep on the phone. (Are they called Geniuses too?) Finally after exhausting the myriad of possibilities that always includes starting up from the OS install disk (which I already did), she finally tells me to bring it into the Apple Store. Brilliant! That's what I could have done an hour earlier if they gave their customers the benefit of the doubt and believed that I really need my monitor repaired, even though I sit on the wrong side of the Genius bar.

I decided to go down to the Stonestown Mall Apple Store instead of the downtown Apple Store simply because there's no place to park downtown and I didn't want to carry a huge 30" display box down Stockton street. I made my "appointment" for the Genius Bar online, and drove down to Stonestown. God forbid I should be able to make a real appointment with my AppleCare purchase, Steve Jobs wants me to buy Apple PRO now for another fistful of dollars.

After driving around the Stonestown Mall 3 times to look for the big white Apple logo, I decide that the only way I'm gonna find the store is to go inside. I park, grab the huge box and find the nearest mall directory. Then I realize I couldn't have parked further away from the Apple Store than I did.

I don't know if you've ever carried a 30" display box, but it's a great way to throw out your back. There's a little plastic handle on the top that makes you think that you're gonna carry it that way. After about 29 steps, I realized that just heaving the thing up into my arms and carrying it like a bundle of lumber was the way to go. I picked up the pace as my arms began to burn. "What an interesting way to dump this monitor" I thought, "on the way to getting the damn thing looked at". I picked up the pace more. The looks I got were interesting: Mall-goers glared at my armful with a mix of wanting it and then realizing that it would be fucked to have to carry that monitor anywhere including back to the Apple Store for repair.

I ran into people. People ran into me. I finally made it into the Apple Store and some geek smiled widely and beamed "nice monitor!" as I trudged in. I set the huge box down next to the Genius Bar. I was next in line on the screen, followed by a person named "Lee B". The people behind the Genius Bar wear black shirts that say "Genius" in white type in the middle of the chest. I want a similar shirt that says "Idiot" for my next trip in, which at my current rate will be in another 4 months.

People with iPods waited at the counter. I realized I left my car door unlocked. The nearest Genius was doing something on his PowerBook and I was convinced he was only checking his e-mail and surfing the web. They called my name. I cut through the regular crap of explaining and gave the guy my case number. He went over to his PowerBook and probably looked through the latest iMixes to appear in iTunes, then got to the tedium of entering my case number. He took my monitor out of the box and set it up on the counter. He gave me a sheet of paper with my repair order and sent me on my way with the empty display box. Much lighter.

I'd get into the whole ordeal of getting my cell phone fixed, but you don't want to know. You do not want to know. But know this: that repair insurance stuff where you pay 5 bucks a month so you can break your phone and get a new one is a scam. It doesn't take a Genius to figure that out.

Know your rights

The following entry was intended for last week, but an early trip to the hospital delivery room pre-empted posting. So the holiday relevance may be irrelevant, but I'm too busy learning how to change diapers to make a new one this week. Thanks for reading!



This holiday shopping season I've been trying to vote with my wallet. Easier said than done. Buyblue.org takes care of the checking on the store you're planning on throwing money at. The rest is up to you.

Do you wanna support the Red (i.e. EVIL) companies? Go to Wal-Mart. Duh. But who else? None of those tree-hugging, parka sporting companies in the Northwest, right? WRONG. Every time you click the purchase button on Amazon, you're giving more money to the Red party than the Blue.

Instead, go to the co-op of all co-ops, REI and buy some gear. 100% Blue. Not that everybody on your holiday shopping list is gonna want lanterns and snowshoes, but everybody appreciates a nicely pitched tent.

Need some toys for some nieces and nephews? Mattel gives 81% of their money to the Blue party. If you buy "it" on eBay you're giving 56% Blue. But if you walk into KB Toys and slide that credit card, it's now 100% Red.

And when you go home and order a pizza at the end of your shopping day, picking up the phone and calling Domino's will give 100% of your money to Republicans. Surprisingly enough, so does California Pizza Kitchen. You know you're funding corporate America when you go to the big burger chains like McDonald's
and Burger King, but what about In-n-Out Burger? In-n-Out actually gives a larger percentage of their donations to the Red party than the other two.

Well that's all for this week's installment of LLMB. Gotta get a Blue coffee. Where? Surprise surprise!

Lost in the supermarket

Lately I've been receiving a lot of inadvertent e-mails to one of my bazillion e-mail accounts. Specifically my Gmail account. I never use that one because they scan each and every one of your e-mails for marketing clues. It's true. Says so right on the user agreement.

I always love getting random e-mails to my accounts that have pictures attached. I received one e-mail that had this one attached. The sender said "You look so cute in these. Here you go."



I wish I knew which one of these cute guys he or she thought was me. Striped shirts and dark belts, coronas, clean shaven and neatly trimmed eyebrows. I just wanna party with these guys.

I got signed up for an account to Wegmans, which is a supermarket chain. I don't see any of these dudes signing up for supermarket online offers, so it must be some other person who thinks they got my Gmail account.

Now I'm on this e-mail list for moms of Brownies. I get regular e-mails telling me when to be at Investiture and Rededication, Ice Cream parties and such. Apparently I'm supposed to bring an ice cream scoop and a can of whipped cream to the next meeting. And there is a super secret trip to the Jelly Belly factory on the 27 of January. I so badly want to show up dressed as a Brownie so I can go along. Doesn't this place look like a blast?



I can't wait to see where our little Brownie group will go next. Speaking of which, we have a meeting next Wednesday which requires "holiday cookie cutters." No bigger than 3-4 inches please. Kisses!