The City by the Bay

Over the weekend, I went here:

to do this:

(I can post it, because she didn't get this dress, and this was an illegal picture, and who shouldn't post illegal pictures? Pretty.)

and this:

and I found this waiting for me (from the niece not pictured here).

I couldn't ask for a better weekend.

Handwritten Friday: This person is named Elizabeth.

So, on Tuesday night I took the hour drive to Brigham City with my co-worker/bishop and his ten-year-old daughter. She's in 5th grade and loves to write. At one point, I asked her to describe someone and she said she wasn't good at describing people. I ribbed her a little bit and said, "What? The writer can't describe people?"

Her dad and I thought she was just doodling on his notebook in the back seat. An hour is a long drive for a ten-year-old and she was a sweetie and very patient; didn't complain the whole time.

The next day, my bishop called to say he had something to give me. He and his wife came over and read me the following, which they found in his notebook:

"Short hair with bangs. The color is black with a tint of red. Her eyes are brown and twinkle no matter what mood she's in. Her smile was gentle and uplifting and her laugh is happy and wonderful. This person is named Elizabeth."

I share this only because it melted my cold, cold heart. Kids are just so fabulous.

Workin' it.

I get more junk email and weird phone calls on my work cell than I have received in my life. (That's one of the benefits of being semi-technologically backwards -- which mostly just means it's not as important to me as to my contemporaries; you don't open yourself up to as much junk.)

Today was one of my favorites:

"Hey. :D I took your # from our friend, I bet u can't guess who this is! aww I'm so shy... look me up online."

That's all. Not that I would have looked it up, but it seems like you've lost the point of trying to drive traffic to your (uncouth) site if there is no link and no reply address/phone number.

Would you like to take a survey? Do you like to eat beans?

I recently took a survey of all my readers [read: my reader], and asked what people want to read about. It was suggested that I include some audio clips from my childhood.

These are what I made tapes about when I was little:

• meaningless talk shows/"news" shows. (Mostly talk shows because I didn't know what to say as a news anchor, but I always thought news anchors were cooler.) These talk shows were also filled with some TERRIFIC advertising. I was interested in logos, marketing messages, and tag lines -- even when I was very young. I always thought the psychology and thought-process behind influencing opinion was fascinating. You'll see that I clearly had a knack for understanding my market. And then you'll wonder how I make my living now, because my trajectory would have to be pretty steep to be able to make money doing this.
• Songs. Often raps -- about myself. I made these with my brother, Dave, primarily, with a little advice from my brother Jon, on occasion, and some influence from my sisters. There were some other quality songs in which I played a more minor role: "I Wish I Was a Petunia" and "What are We Going to Do Today?" (By minor role, I was associated by observation. And wanting to be part of the group.) I know there were others.

I'm not sure how many of these are surviving. Ironically, I don't have any of my own material, which means my sister and brother have some good blackmail material in hand. For now, I've put in requests. We'll see what comes of it.

The greatest thing since indoor plumbing.

I love my nearly 69-year-old dad for being willing to come over, stay up way past his bed-time and get down in awkward contortions under my sink to help me fix leaks. He's among the most selfless people I know, and I'm glad I have him to learn from.

And I love my mom for planning a birthday party with festive napkins, for killing bad guys in World of Warcraft, and for giving me boxes that fit PERFECTLY under my sink. She's often given me the perfect thing at the perfect time -- I think it's called a mother's intuition.

You can grow flowers from where dirt used to be.

I'm coming up on my two-year anniversary owning my place. So, in honor, I thought I'd do a few posts. It's still not really even close to where I'd like it to be, but I'm getting there.

For starters, this weekend, I decided to do a little yard maintenance. I think the HOA is supposed to cover much of it, but there are a few things they don't do and a few things they don't do very well. So I took matters into my own hands.

I've always had this (in my opinion) ugly wine-barrel planter at the front of my house. The first summer and all of last year, I loathed it so much that I ignored it. I'd still like to get rid of it, but -- in the meantime -- why make it doubly ugly with dead plants and weeds? So, after upsetting thousands of ants and their home, this is what it looks like today:







One thing I'd like them to do better is shape the bushes in front of my house. (As you can see, they're a little crazy looking.) The other thing I'd like them to do better is trim the ivy in my carport. They did the first year, but last summer and so far this year, they've done nothing. So? I went to Home Depot, got some clippers, bagged 3 bags of ivy, old leaves, and other such stuff and ended up with this (I took no "before" picture, so this is basically meaningless. But it's better. I promise. Three bags better.) :



I promise future home anniversary posts will be more interesting. Or at least, I'll try.

A good day.

Sorry to all my Google Reader subscribers out there. This is annoying for you, since I think it already posted differently to the feed. I guess you can just listen twice! Or not at all, of course.