This week was a near-total fail on the Idol Bingo front. I really thought we would get a Bingo but we did not. There was not a single utterance of “Dawg!” from Randy- it must be the first time this has ever happened and it really felt like he did that on purpose just to thwart me- and it looked like Kara had spent the night somewhere other than a crack den or maybe someone finally told her about Clear-Eyez. Boo.

I was seriously impressed, however, by Ellen, who gave us not one but two resounding Creepy Lesbian Moments; first calling a young girl’s performance “horny” and then noting that the giant grinning blond guy was surrounded by “sexy young gals.” Just to be clear: I love lesbians. I love Ellen. This is not hate speak. It is love speak. I am speaking from a place of love. Kudos to her and also to Simon for wearing a nice sweater instead of those awful V-neck tees that make him look like he just wandered onto the stage unwashed after a six week bender at the beach on Spain’s Costa del Sol surrounded by huge beet-colored Germans.

Well, better luck next week. I can’t handle the pressure so I never tune in on Results Night. It makes me lose all control and I get completely shitfaced, shouting at the TV in an insane rage and I just can’t have that on a Wednesday.

Er, catnip.

Our neighborhood is, let’s face it, a mecca for the insane. It is also full of tourists who quite often overlap the first group.

Insane tourist with wacky-looking wife: Are you planting marijuana seeds?
Me: Uh… no.

I was in fact planting catnip. We have a fifty foot long planter in front of the apartment building. Currently it is mostly empty. I thought it would be picturesque and quaint to fill it with stray cats, and I am sure the tourists would like it.

Our local branch library- a short walk from the house along a sunny, palm-lined boulevard- is called University Heights.

This is shortened to “UH” on the books.

I love this.

That’s an Easter card for you.

When I go to the beach, I take the usual things- hat, towel, sunscreen, cat.

Maybe some cats like the beach. But not this one. Here the cat is obviously praying for deliverance.

Eventually they carried it, quivering, back to the car.

First, happy St Pat’s Day! We plan on celebrating with a bottle of almond champagne and Idol.

These revelers were at the parade held here in San Diego last Saturday. Among the best-prepared parade goers I have ever seen except for my mother, they brought a huge picnic and even held a raffle. Not to mention- green mohawk, anyone?

My favorite part of the parade was probably the Irish setters:

Although there really was a lot to love, including this handspring:

And these bagpipers practicing in front of 666 Sixth Ave.

That is a lot of sixes.

Peacock at large:

Furry feet:

Arms emerging from the kitchen cabinet:

Sometimes in the morning- and only in the morning- the kitchen smells like kitty litter. We don’t have a cat.

Also, the front door locks and unlocks itself. It’s eerie, and a security risk, but just like people in a horror movie we stay, thinking it must be BASEMENT CAT, on his way home from a tough night of SOULSNATCHING.*

*On my blog I prefer that ALL CAPS be read not as shouting, but in an ENGLISH ACCENT.

I read Catcher in the Rye and a lot of other incredibly difficult books and here are all my deep thoughts-

No?

All right then.

My aunt and uncle met up with his 5 brothers in Las Vegas for his 60th. Godzilla joined them for five fun-filled days of glitz and gambling on the Strip. Observe:

I feel like I’m in that story by Borges or Oliverio Girondo or somebody where every day he coughs up more rabbits. He writes letters home about it. “Today, Mother, I coughed up two rabbits.” Only with us, it is gift baskets.

We’ve received 14. Some are homemade, some purchased. Every day brings more. 10 more days until Christmas. We love it- so much easier than grocery shopping.

This “Wine Country” gift basket came from my grandfather. Crackers, cheese, processed meats. Three bottles of wine. Sundry dessert items.

We tore into it like bears. Smart bears, who had learned to use a corkscrew and the remote control.

This made a nice change from all the chicken gizzards and hearts we normally eat. Well- mostly gizzards.

We went to see paragliders on the cliffs of La Jolla.

I thought it was pretty cool. Overpriced hot dogs and pizza for sale in one of those gray weather-beaten structures you see near the water. Drunk/high people in lawn chairs watching the paragliders soar around the landing area. Bright sun like almost always in Southern California, 75 degrees in November with a crisp breeze off the ocean.

It worked like this. People would strap on a giant parachute and run down the mild grassy slope to the cliff edge, chased by barking dogs, get caught in the updraft off the ocean, and take off.

Then they flew down the coast, turned around, and came back in a long oval of single file flying people. When they came in to land they did one of several things: landed peacefully, soared around like maniacs yelling at their friends, or crashed.

We also climbed 350 feet down the cliffs to the sea. I do not know how the surfers managed this feat- I took the stairs.

On the beach at the bottom, we discovered a scene of breathtaking beauty, and also naked people. Naked people sunbathing, naked people standing around like statues, naked people playing volleyball and changing their kids’ diapers.

Here is a painting of the breathtaking scene. (Naked people not pictured.)

I’m the only one who eats any pie. One piece at a time. Day after day. It is sad. The Thanksgiving pies are excellent.

The Thanksgiving moonshine less so.

Location: California Pizza Kitchen, Fashion Valley Mall, San Diego, California.

Bartender: Can I help you?
Mike: I’d like 2 glasses of Cab Sauv.
Bartender: (Slightly bewildered look.) Ok.
A few minutes pass.
What did you want again?
Mike: (slowly and distinctly) 2 glasses of Cab Sauv.
Bartender: Oh… we don’t have the mix. We just have the “Cav.”
Mike: We’ll have 2 glasses of the “Cav”, then.

Hours later:

Mike: How could any bartender be that stupid? Don’t make fun of me… I’m going to blow my nose on my socks.

In case you were wondering, there were 9 food related metaphors in today’s WSJ articles concerning Kraft’s hostile takeover bid of Cadbury.

I guess it gets boring working there.

Also, today I bought advance tickets for 2012. I love disaster movies so much. I don’t care what the haters say about how it is worthless trash.