While in San Francisco for Thanksgiving, I had a spare hour while Caroline took Henry out for a stroll. We were meeting up at our friends’ parents home in Pacific Heights, so along the way there Diana suggested I might stop into Balboa Cafe. I was able to catch part of a football game, had a famous “bar burger” and sucked down a couple of these amazing bloody marys. One of the best ones I’ve ever had.
That’s Nadine, our au pair from Germany, at LAX after arriving back from a trip with Caro and the baby to New York City. Oh, and that’s Emmitt Smith, NFL rushing record holder and three, THREE! time Super Bowl winner, with Cheryl Evans, his dance partner on Dancing with the Stars. They were waiting on the arrival of Smith’s family, and ABC was there taping the reunion for the upcoming finale episode. Go 22!
They made Nadine sign a release form as she, unlike the other folks lingering around, were too wimpy to pull out a camera and barge up next to the television/sports superstar. Apparently that put her in the shot, so we’ll see if she ends up on the show’s final episode. Nice work, Nadine!
Tiki Ti, the greatest tiki cocktail bar on the planet, on Sunset in Silver Lake. I took some company colleagues from Toronto who were attending a seminar here in LA. The website for Tiki-Ti also has one of the funniest navigation schemes I’ve seen in a while; simple, but that’s the point. Find the tiki that yells “pookie-pookie.”
Caro got us kick-ass seats at the Hollywood Bowl for The Who. I had actually seen them before sometime back in the 80’s, at RFK stadium in Washington. I also saw someone fall from the second deck of the stadium into the crowd below at that DC show.
This was a better show than I thought it would be, in part because we had great box seats (see the music god sighting in the post below).
Hardly recognizable in this photo – sort of like a shot of Sasquatch in the woods – but it’s Billy Corgan sitting in the adjacent box seat at The Who at the Hollywood Bowl.
According to wikipedia, Corgan’s 40th birthday is this year, on Saint Patrick’s Day, which is also a Saturday. Which would mean this could be the number one coolest birthday party of the year.
Minnie Driver? Well, she was at my local coffee shop with a friend, wearing fairy-princess butterfly wings. Yawn. I almost didn’t bother taking the shot, and then by the time I got my phone out she had flittered, or whatever fairy princesses do, down the block. Golf claps.
My friend sent this to me after seeing it on BoingBoing. Maybe torture goes over well in Des Moines, I don’t know. This doesn’t scare me in a ‘boo’ sort of way, more in a “shock to the balls” kind a way. What were this kid’s parents thinking?
He’ll probably end up with an Ivy League education and a stint as Secretary of State.
This is real. As real as Halloween and babies. Since when did Halloween cease to be about scary things, like witches, ghosts, ghouls and goblins? I don’t want my kid growing up to be some kind of horror-holiday pansy who wants to dress up as a do-gooder like a super hero, or fireman. I want a kid who grows up to want to dress up as something frightening and creepy, that has fangs, drools blood, carries a chainsaw . . . you know, a member of the undead, blindly wandering around searching out victims and unleashing his evil ways upon the unsuspecting. You know, like a zombie. Or the President.
Unless you consider this to be super scary. Which, actually, it is. I mean, maybe this kid is dressed up like a piece of Sbarro pizza baked underneath a heat lamp in Penn Station, just waiting to be purchased by a former-real-estate-broker-now-meth-addict who has been living on a heat grate on 32nd Street. Yep, you’re not smiling so much anymore, are you kiddo?! Maybe those aren’t pepperoni. Maybe they’re open sores. With chives.
I love holidays.