Rose Parade

Rose Parade has moved: see link in post below

Wednesday, November 30, 2005

The axe is wielded in earnest

Since sending "Alias" and "Threshold" to the trash heap last weekend, the nets are getting bolder with the death sentences. "Hot Properties", "Reunion" and "Killer Instinct" have joined the cancellation hit parade the past couple of days. Good luck and good night guys.

Bad to worse

Okay, I was already having a really incredibly crappy, shitty, hate my life day before we lost to the Blackhawks. Thanks guys.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

Hollywood souvenirs, large and small

Apparently the original Hollywood Sign is up for grabs on ebay. The Hollywood Reporter let slip that the reserve amount is $300,000. How many people do you think are watching this item? I know I am. And someone has helped themself to Gregory Peck's Walk of Fame Star. How did no one notice the guy with the cement saw carving up a piece of the sidewalk?

Monday, November 28, 2005

Kings (16-7-1) vs. Detroit Red Wings (17-6-2)

Blogging, watching the game and making spaghetti sauce. Check me out, I'm multi-tasking. Heh. Damn, I didn't realize our record is nearly identical to the Wings. Especially since two of our losses were to them. If we beat them tonight I will officially crown the Kings an elite team. Do you have any idea how insufferable I will be with an elite hockey team? I'm entitled to it, having been a Kings fan since 1987, prior to the Gretzky trade. On the other hand, our record notwithstanding, the power play is still a big concern. Because, basically, it sucks like a big sucking thing. Jason LaBarbera is our man in net tonight. Wings are starting a rookie, I heard that Legace got hurt. His name is Jimmy Howard and unless I heard incorrectly, this is his first NHL start. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Come on guys. Mattias Norstrom was honored for logging the most games of any Kings defenseman. Not to take props from Matty, but Blake should never have been traded, so I'm not thrilled with this particular stat. LOL, some random Wing scored on his own goalie. And not just a ricochet off his stick or skate, but a direct shot on his own goal. Unfortunately, as Bob and Jim pointed out after seeing the replay, it went in the side of the net and does not count. Too bad. Oh man, that Carls Jr. milkshake commercial seriously freaked me out. Even In-and-Out may not be able to save me. The fine folks at Let's Go Kings are working on a Kings drinking game. Our power play alone is reason enough to drink. End of the first and we are scoreless. Come on guys, you can do it! He's a rookie! HAMMER HIM!!! Holy f'ing you know what!!! A penalty shot!!! AND JOE CORVO SCORES!!! That would prove to be the highlight of the game. The Wings continue to own us, they beat us with a goalie making his NHL debut and we haven't beaten them in ten games. The Kings not busting out their A-game certainly didn't help matters, and now they have a tough road trip coming up. I hope this isn't the beginning of the end. This bit from the L.A. Times says it all: In an opportunity to prove their worth against a long-time nemesis, the Kings showed only that they aren't ready for elite status just yet in a 5-2 loss in front of 18,118 on Monday night in Staples Center.

Public acknowledgements

Got a mention on LAist today ("Bah Humbug" post) - thrilled me to pieces, I feel strangely famous. It's the first time I've seen my blog mentioned online. I also have this odd sense of responsibility to actually be timely and interesting and other responsible blogging things, like the world is watching or something. I've been looking forward to this for a while, now that it's happened it's just weird. But good weird. The Kings finally getting some respect from Yahoo's Power Rankings. Top five, that's right. On the other hand, why do I care where Yahoo Sports ranks them? Also it was good to see the LAT give the Conroy/Demitra/Frolov line some love. Okay, we play Detroit tonight. We have GOT to beat them, especially in our own building.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

My own personal Fresno State fan club

So holiday bonding with my dad involves whatever is on TV, this weekend being Thanksgiving, that means football. Which I don't give a rat's ass about. Denver at Dallas? Doesn't chap my chaps, unless the Avs are trashing the Stars. Broncos get my vote cuz their logo is a horses head. And they won (if I remember last Thursday correctly). So there. On the other hand, there are the Cowboys, with their crappy new jerseys and crappy non-silver pants. But then there was the conversation about how poor Fresno State had to play USC, the Trojans currently being yer basic college football powerhouse, while Fresno State is, well, Fresno State. I'm not even a college football fan and I appreciate how unfair that is. Dad made it abundantly clear that not only did FState hold their own until the final score, but that they're admirable slogan is ANYONE...ANYWHERE...ANYTIME. Oh, you GO Fresno State!!! Go, go go!!! GO!!!

Santa Claus in Hollywood

The man himself touched down on Hollywood Boulevard earlier tonight and DAMN that was one fantastic Santa. Thanks, NORAD, for the tracking updates. Nice to know that some of my tax dollars are being put to good use. In case you're wondering, I wussed out and watched the parade from the comfort of my living room despite the fact that you can all but see my apartment building from KTLA's vantage point. I did have the decency to regret it, especially when the Rancho Jimenez Andalusians showed up. Me want. And who is this Mark Steines and Lu Parker who KTLA entrusted with hosting duties? They're certainly no Stephanie Edwards and Bob Eubanks. Next year, get someone who can form complete sentences and think on their feet. Seriously, KTLA management peeps, if you're going to do something (like broadcast this parade) do it right. I can deal with actors playing fictional characters who can't function IRL without a script. Hosts? Not so much. I hope that in the future the Hollywood Christmas Parade deserves and gets better.

Happy Thanksgiving, "Alias" and "Threshold"

Speaking of death sentences

You know who really deserves to have their death sentences overturned? His victims. Note to self: Kill first, then write. Reap celebrity plaudits. Got it. I have a terrible feeling the Governator is going to overturn the sentence. You know how the law works with the famous and infamous in this state. Just know that not all of us here are happy about that.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

Sweet Jesus it was gorgeous out today. Cool and crisp, with morning breezes that have worked up to some pretty impressive winds by late afternoon, all capped by a crystal clear blue sky. A great day to be out and I was, getting my Christmas shopping started (and getting some stuff for myself of course). This is what I refer to as "Rose Parade" weather, because on January 1 or 2, when the parade is televised worldwide the weather is always like this, just colder because it's the middle of winter. But nothing like the snow and storms people in other parts of the country associate with January. I always wonder how many people are prompted to move here after watching the parade because they think every day in every part of Southern California is just that perfect. In fact, it has only rained on the parade nine times in its entire history. This and additional Rose Parade FAQs can be found here. Hollywood Boulevard is pretty much shut down at this point in preparation for the annual Hollywood Christmas Parade tomorrow. I don't know if I'll actually go out there, jaded as I am. I went a few years back and it was basically a collection of C-list celebrities, mostly from TV (except for the grand marshal, who is usually a B-lister), really beautiful vintage cars and best of all, gorgeous equestrian units. There's also a number of high school marching bands from small towns in other states and the L.A. Times always carries a small article about how the schools held bake sales and the like to finance the trip and how they do the tourist stuff while they're here, Disneyland and Universal Studios and the like. Last time I went, I found myself standing behind some people whose kids were in one of those bands and they went bonkers when their kids marched by. It was very sweet and impossible not to be excited for them. The grand marshal this year is our mayor, Antonio Villaraigosa. I think he was a great choice, a good change from the usual. But the real guest of honor always brings up the rear of the parade: Santa Claus. It's cute to see the kids get all caught up in his arrival and just thinking about it is softening me up. Okay, maybe I will go.

Friday, November 25, 2005

Thanksgiving Gold

Thanks to the Gold Line, I missed the standstill traffic on the 210 (my brother: not so lucky) and spent Thanksgiving with my Dad at my uncle's apartment in Arcadia. Visited same uncle at the nearby hospice where he's spending what little is left of his life. Seriously people, drugs, alcohol and cigarettes in large, consistent quantities will take their toll. Speaking of L.A. Metro, I wish we had more/better public transportation around here (in other words, "not buses"). I would dump the car if we did. Yes me, a native Southern Californian, can actually imagine a vehicle-free existence. The Red and Gold Lines are that good. I was able to relax with that copy of Shakespeare for Dummies that I've been meaning to get to. Seriously, it's not hard to follow when someone explains it in simple, modern-day English, one of the reasons I always loved Looking for Richard so much. That's actually my train in the picture, I snapped it quickly before boarding. Just off to my right was an officer chatting up a couple of guys with a very nice movie camera, asking all interested-like what their "documentary" is about and explaining in that 'I'm your friend even as I ticket you' tone that they apparently teach at police academy the difference between commercial and non-commercial filming. Like these guys don't know what a permit is. Heh. I wonder if he let them off with a warning in the spirit of the holiday. The original plan for Thanksgiving was to have dinner at North Woods in Arcadia (or San Gabriel, whatever) but it turns out they're closed on Thanksgiving. Being a family-owned place, it makes sense, but we were kind of bummed. So Dad made his legendary tacos instead. Yum! I don't really care about missing a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, I'm not really in the holiday spirit right now. I'm trying to, but it's just not happening. Maybe later. Maybe not.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Free at last!!!

Well, until Monday anyway. The company I work for always cuts us loose early on the days preceding holidays, so I am home and loving it! And free to blog at will, which is good because I just noticed I haven't blogged in almost a week. Didn't realize it had been that long. Went to Hollywood and Highland during lunch and spotted a sign that said H&H is outfitted for WiFi. Either they just did it or I just hadn't noticed. When I went to Staples the other day I meant to ask someone about getting my laptop up to speed for WiFi but I got caught up in shopping and time constraints and forgot. Really need to look into that.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

Kings (12-6-1, 25 pts) vs. Vancouver Canucks (12-5-2, 26 pts) 11/17/05

Goalies: Mathieu Garon (4-4-0, GAA 2.44) vs. Dan Cloutier (7-2-1, GAA 3.02) Heh, for a few minutes there I thought Vancouver's ploy to shut out the Kings by keeping us on the power play was going to work. Fortunately, after flaking on the first two PP's, Visnovsky scored on the third (a 5 on 3) and fourth chance. That makes us 4 for 13 with a two man advantage this season. Not good. 2-0 Kings at the end of the first. I bet Van's coach rips them a new one about taking so many damn penalties. 2nd period: Apparently not, and we score again! Cammy this time, and Demitra gets his third assist of the night. Four is his career high. Yay Pavol with the assist hat trick! Shit. Parros injured his ankle in the first and won't come back. Hope it isn't serious. Todd Bertuzzi. What a freaking disgrace. Shouldn't be in the league. How galling does it have to be for Steve Moore to see Bertuzzi playing. The Canucks score and it's 3-1 Kings with "CSI" about to start. Hang in there guys, I'll be back in an hour (and checking in during commercials). And not checking in during commercials. Oh Brass, how you tear me apart and make me cry like Nancy Kerrigan. And the Kings won, which dries my big blues and sends me off happy into this Thursday night.

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

WHOA!!!

Just saw this: Fedorov to Columbus. Wow, Feds behind the Orange Curtain sure didn't last long. Gotta wonder what the Duckies will do with that freed-up cap money. Hopefully nothing effective...

Fuzzy faces I have known and loved

It's turning out to be a bad year for beloved kitties. Over the weekend I found myself moping over pictures of the late, great Wilma. I miss her terribly. Yesterday, Liz had to have the Amber Kitty put to sleep. When Wilma died, I felt like putting in for bereavement time. With names like Wilma and Amber, we might have gotten away with it. Those precious fuzzy faces and everything that comes with them sure have a way of latching onto our hearts, never relinquishing their hold, even after they're gone. I've come to the conclusion that a pet's lifespan should be in direct correlation with the number of years its owner has to look forward to. It occurs to me that I may have to acknowledge that I must be getting old if for no other reason than the sheer number of deceased pets I can reminisce about. First off, Meadowlark, my first horse. The old bay mare. I was the proverbial horse-crazy girl. Anything that had anything to do with horses was embraced heart and soul. I drew horses and named the fictional equines I had designed. I read all the horse books I could get my hands on, including the bibles, Misty of Chincoteague and The Black Stallion. I followed horse racing and studied race results so thoroughly that I got pretty good at picking winners. I was twelve and buying The Racing Form. I collected the Breyer model horses and for years thought that was as close as I would get to actually owning a horse. I watched parades just to see the mounted units. Even now I get a thrill seeing the police horses that patrol Hollywood Boulevard during special events. When I was in junior high I finally got to start riding. My instructor was a short-tempered woman named Roxanne. She was as rough on her students as she was on the horses she trained. I picked up a number of bad habits from her, including one that eventually earned me my only serious horse-related injury, but I did learn to ride. I went from being rigid with fear that first day to riding in my first couple of shows. I also distinctly remember one time in the car on the way to a lesson, discussing my future horse with my mother and I wondered aloud if my horse had even been born yet. I would soon discover the irony of that question. We moved the summer before I started high school and there was a stable just a few blocks from the new house. It immediately became my hangout and I quickly got to know the boarders and their horses. Then came the September day that my dream came true. I got a horse. She was an unspectacular twenty-two year old unceremoniously dumped by a trainer who didn't want to bother having to sell an elderly horse. He had orders from a doctor who boarded several horses there to get them sold and didn’t want to waste his time with a geezer who would only bring a minimal seller’s fee. He suggested the stable take her as a lesson horse, problem being there weren't a lot of lessons going on there. She was known as Granny, although we later found out her real name was Tomboy. The ranch manager was named Patti and she didn't want the old bay mare either. She turned to me and said, "You can have her if your mom says it's alright." I was fourteen and horse-crazy. This was too good to be true - I was being given a horse. I ran all the way home with the big news. And my mom said yes. Granny obviously wasn't her real name, nor were we enamored with it, so my mom dubbed her Meadowlark. The name came from a rural place she had once lived, a place that had horses. By the time we found out about Tomboy it didn't matter because she was definitely Lark. Under any name, she was the perfect first horse. Lark’s stability and dependability meant I was able to make my rookie mistakes on her without suffering the consequences - except once. That was the morning I decided to mimic Roxanne's "swing your leg over the horse's neck instead of the hindquarters like you're supposed to" dismount. Roxanne would dismount this way in front of her students and it looked very cool, but of course we weren't allowed to do it. For some reason this particular day I decided to do it and it earned me the only stitches I've ever had. Lark normally carried her neck straight out quarter horse style, but just as I swung my leg over something caught her attention and she raised her head just slightly, just enough for me to hook my heel on her neck. What followed was a less than graceful belly flop. The funny thing is what hurt was my stomach - but a glance down at my bloody shirt tipped me off that my gut wasn't the only thing that had connected - I'd hit my chin as well, and that's where the stitches went. A few hours later, with orders from the doctor to make sure I didn't get my stitches wet, I headed back to the stable...to give Lark a bath. It was on the trails that Lark was at her very best. She was calm and steady, I can't remember her ever bolting at anything. Even if something startled her all she did was perk her ears and take a really good look at it. On the trails we encountered streams, coyotes, snakes, even a dead cow at one point. She never shied, never threw me, never tried to run away. I was safe aboard Meadowlark. On the trails with my old bay mare I could let my mind wander. It was better than therapy. Meadowlark died a couple days before Christmas 1984 at the age of thirty-one. I had always assumed that when her time came she'd go the easy way - just not wake up one day, that just seemed to be in the cards for her, she deserved an easy way out after all those years of service. It was what I hoped for her because I didn't want her to suffer, and what I hoped for myself because I didn't want to have to make the decision to have her put down. We didn't get that lucky. It had been raining and Lark slipped in the mud late one afternoon and fractured her leg. My roommate couldn't reach me because I had gone out after work with some co-workers, so she called my mom. It was all over by the time I got home. I felt terrible that I wasn’t there for Lark at the end. I've always wondered what she must have thought, did she wonder where the hell I was? Did she resent my absence? Was she scared, and would my being there have eased her fear and pain at all? Or was she typically stoic to the very end? I still miss her. I miss the solid dependability, how she put up with me, how she provided me with some of the most content moments of my life. Years - no decades - later, I miss hearing her whinny when I called out to her to let her know I’d arrived, and the way she'd follow along even if I wasn't holding her leadline or reins. I miss her beautiful face with those big sweet liquid brown eyes and the big white blob in the middle of her forehead that I was never able to outline because it was overwhelmed by white hairs reflecting her advanced age. I miss her and I miss riding. I miss the way the reins feel in my hands, the smell of the saddle leather, the sound of hoofbeats, even the unpleasant burning stench produced out of the farrier's truck. And the more time that goes by, the more I worry that I'll never get it back. Man, it sucks having expensive hobbies. I would drop any and everything to just saddle up and hit the trails. Then there were the dogs, which in a way is funny because I've never actually had a dog of my own and won't for the foreseeable future because I don't believe in keeping them in apartments. So I guess dog-wise, I've always lived vicariously through my family's dogs. Funny, I've never thought of it that way before. I've had cats, birds, hamsters and horses of my own, but never a dog. Hmmm. When Sunny and Casey died they were both well into their teens and they had long, pampered lives, so it wasn't as tragic as it could have been. They were the last two dogs my Grandma Loomis had and they made me realize that I can segment my life by the dogs my Grandma owned over the years. When I was a baby there was Heidi, a German Shepherd I only remember through pictures. From what I've heard she was woefully unprepared for the arrival of the first grandchild and so I was in constant danger of being bitten. It was the first and last time that my relationship with one of my Grandma's dogs would be contentious. And oddly enough, I've always had a thing for German Shepherds. One of my life's goals is to have one. I have no idea if this has anything to do with Heidi. The better part of my childhood and early adulthood featured Smokey, a smallish Shepherd mix. The better part of a lot of people's lives featured Smokey. It seemed like he lived for decades. In one year of his long reign, on Mother's Day, when my Grandma was vacationing in Hawaii, my dad and uncles called her and put Smokey on the phone. My Grandma and Smokey howled together as they often did, across thousands of miles of the Pacific. For years afterward the friend Grandma was traveling with would complain that she didn't hear from her kids, "but Vi's dog called her on Mother's Day!" Smokey I think was Grandma's undisputed favorite and always would be. But after he died my uncle Bob decided she needed another dog, preferably one very different from Smokey. Enter an unlikely candidate, a royally bred little Sheltie. His father was a major show champion, but Casey Windwalker was being sold as pet quality rather than as a show dog. No matter, because he was Sheltie perfection, no ribbons needed. Gorgeous long coat, shiny, beady little dark eyes, but best of all were his ears. They would have handicapped him in the show ring, but out in the real world they were irresistible - one stood up, the other folded over neatly in perfect Lassie fashion. No one could ever take Smokey's place - that would have been asking the impossible. But Casey managed to accomplish the near-impossible: he filled in Smokey's place and over the years made it his own, no matter how many times my dad dismissed him as a "rat-faced little dog". He was hyper and gorgeous and spoiled and always impeccably groomed. He made my Grandma happy, so I never held it against him that he had better hair than me. Lord, he had fabulous hair. Running alongside Casey in my life during these years were my Dad and Stepmom's dogs, Sunny and Laki. Sunny had been adopted from the local pound after they lost the lottery drawing for a much in demand cocker spaniel. She was a good-sized, multi-colored, solidly-built thing and over the years her weight fluctuated more than Oprah's. And she had the best brown eyes, over which were brown smudges that worked like worried eyebrows. It made for a fantastic effect. Sunny was eventually joined by Laki, a similarly sized blond mutt who was taken in after sucking up to my dad in the parking lot of a bar that had left him feeling particularly warm and good-samaritanish on that particular night. Laki was a stray who appeared to have recently come out second best in a fight and as a result was in desperate need of veterinary attention, which he soon got. At the animal hospital they commented on how lucky he was to have found help when he did, which led to his name, the Hawaiian word for lucky. It would be prophetic, he would live out his life in a dog's paradise. My stepmom was a serious animal lover and when she was dying I sat by her hospital bed and wondered, did she know she was never going to see her house again? And did she know she would never see any of her beloved animals again? In addition to the dogs, at that time there were also three cats. There probably would have been more if she'd had her way. Diane didn't go home to see the animals again and Laki had to be put down a couple years later. My dad resisted as long as he could, in fact probably longer than he should have. Laki had been going downhill for some time, losing his hearing, his sight, his balance. For years, in the morning, you could open the back door and call both dogs and they would both come bounding. Eventually Laki couldn't hear anymore. Then you would just call Sunny. When she came bouncing up you would tell her to go get Laki. She would run back to the doghouse and roust him up. But then he started to slip on the kitchen floor. It was terribly pathetic. Eventually he would slip and couldn't get himself back up. He'd just sit there splayed until you helped him up. At some point you both know that it just isn't working anymore. Eventually that knowledge came to Laki's increasingly cloudy eyes and he finally got his out. My dad finally retired to Hawaii. They require a six month quarantine for animals entering the state. There was no question that Sunny couldn't and wouldn't be put through that. So when dad retired to the island, Sunny retired to Grandma's. By the time Sunny relocated, advancing old age had slowed Casey down considerably from the hyper little rat faced dog he'd been in his glory days. And my Grandma and the uncle who lived with her could barely get around themselves. I was convinced that adding Sunny's aging and considerable bulk to the mix was a recipe for disaster, but I was in an apartment and couldn't take her myself. But she settled right in and became an irreplaceable member of the household, as if she'd been there forever. If she resented being left behind she showed no sign, except for snubbing my dad a bit when he visited. While Casey wound down slowly and deliberately, Sunny on the other hand apparently felt the need to sound a few false alarms before checking out for good. She had cancer that was handled with surgery. Then there was the day she lost her sense of balance, a sure sign of a stroke. My uncle, who could barely carry his own weight, hoisted her considerable self into the car and off to the vets office for what he thought would be her final ride. It turned out to be the false alarm to end all false alarms - she only had an ear infection. The ancient old broad's balance was being thrown off by an accumulation of fluids. This was dealt with, but for the remainder of her life she carried her head at a comical tilt, as if still afflicted. It only added to her considerable charm. Then her cancer returned, inoperable this time, and Casey wasn't in much better shape. They were both falling apart. And this was when I realized I could segment my life so far by the dogs my Grandma had owned. Sunny went first, and she went quickly and mercifully. She was out in the yard and just keeled over. Less than two months later Casey followed. When Christmas came it wasn't the same without them. There was no one for me to stick cheap bows on. There was no one for me to sneak food to. There was no rat-faced dog curled up on the brick fireplace. And now my Grandma is gone too and so is her house in Arcadia and Christmas is weird without them. And that doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of beloved pets now gone. There's Hubba and Freebie and poor lightweight Sasha with her terrible ending and Sir Buttons of San Dimas. There's Scoobie Doo and Bon-Bon and Sophie and the gorgeous Himmie whose name escapes me at the moment and the countless other cats and dogs Amy and Jennifer have had over the years, plus Anne's beloved little lapdog Bill and Amy's horse Shasta Mountain Springs and Sebastian, the horse I took my first lesson on back in the day. All gone. Man, that's a lot of animals. Yep, getting old. Or maybe just feeling that way.

Finally!

"Night Stalker" gets the ax. The show I called as first on the chopping block actually made it through six broadcasts. I guess the fact that the nets aren't yanking shows after a couple airings and actually giving them a decent chance to succeed can only be a good thing.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

With friends like these...

So Lisa and Liz have been badgering/inviting me to join them on Friendster and tonight I finally broke down and signed up. Because if there's anything I need it's another reason to spend more time online. Seriously, my phone bill (and lack of a life) is starting to scare me. After a rocky start (during which I would have appreciated being tipped not to use my personal email address, you know the one with my full name that I only give to people I know personally) I managed to upload a couple of pictures and damn, do they have a buttload of ads (not terribly ladylike, I know but DAMN), also I tried to search for groups interested in writing and it gave me individuals interested in writing, which I was not looking for. Apparently I have to go through all 64 pages of Literature and Arts groups to find the ones devoted to writing. So far, gotta say I'm not impressed. Not gonna wade through 64 pages of anything (especially on dialup), I already knew Lisa's birthday is coming up and I see Liz every weekday so it's not like I have to get online to hear what's going on in her world. On the other hand, there's L.A. Blogs, a community I have been dying to join since starting this blog, hell it's one of the reasons I stuck with it, and weeks after requesting to be added I still haven't gotten a response from the guy. Screw Friendster, I want to be on L.A. Blogs. I didn't do a goddamn thing this weekend, certainly didn't go to the Screenwriting Expo like the wanna-be professional I am, although Liz did and will have a fascinating take on it I'm sure. I did manage to get through the first disc of the new Kate Bush double CD and DAMN, she sounds better than ever. "King of the Mountain" kicks some serious ass. I just hope she doesn't wait another twelve years between releases. After my bitchfest about how the Kings should have found a way, any way, to take Detroit, they slapped down Chicago Friday night and totally bitchslapped Columbus today. Which is good, because great teams don't lose to inferior teams. Happy that the boys didn't let the Detroit game throw them off. The hunt for Kings greatness continues. And with that, cannot believe that the weekend is over already. Damn, I am really getting sick of this shit. Like I wasn't already. So tired of being an office drone.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Friday am big news

Well. Looks like pro football is returning to L.A. How 'bout that.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Thursday am stuff

Come on weekend! Oh, who am I kidding - I have two full work days left. Not even close. Last night's game wasn't televised (also it was on the road, so it was at least half over by the time I got off work anyway), but we almost beat the Red Wings. That and whatever will get you bounced in the first round of the playoffs, second round at best. What that means is that as much as I'm thrilled the Kings don't suck as expected this year, they aren't going to be hoisting Lord Stanley's cup any time between now and next summer. Competitive yes, elite no. According to this story teacup Chihuahuas are so last week. Like babies out of wedlock is a new thing, especially in Hollywood. Where has this writer been?

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Nope...

don't feel like getting out of bed this morning either.

Monday, November 07, 2005

Okay...there are unfortunate accidents

And then there are people who are natural born frontrunners for The Darwin Awards. Oh, and this part of the article: "It was not clear why the grenade exploded." Um, because it's a grenade?

Miss Crankypants here

Mondays suck in general, but I was especially pissy this morning. So not in the mood to shift into office drone status, but then again I never am. My brother, who has also been in a rut, actually seems to think this week won't be so bad and I hope he's right, but I really doubt it. God damn, why do weekends have to be so short? I want to work two days then be off five. At full salary. Also irritating the hell out of me are the countless recorded messages I'm being bombarded with thanks to the upcoming elections. If I wanted Barbara Boxer, Richard Riordan and every freaking proposition on the ballot to have my phone number I would have given it to them myself. This is why I'm on the Do Not Call List - because unsolicited calls are intrusive and rude and annoying. I probably should have listened to them more closely instead of hanging up or deleting them right away, so I would know who to vote against. Disrespecting my privacy is a good way not to get me on your side. But there was one little bright spot today - this made me laugh my ass off, even though it's just so very wrong. I hope they sell this stuff, I'll buy at least two: one of the novelty and conversational value and one to sell on ebay. No way I'm actually going to try to gag that stuff down though, not with that offputting label. I should print that out and stick it on my refrigerator, that should put me off a few meals that I could stand to miss.

Friday, November 04, 2005

82-year-old gets Hollywood beauty treatment

The Hollywood Sign gets some work done. Unlike a lot of others in this business, this one will end up looking natural. I'm glad they're doing this. There was a period in the late 70's when the sign fell into serious disrepair (scroll down to middle of page for photos). That simply cannot happen. I personally wouldn't mind if they added the last four letters back on and made it "Hollywoodland" again, just for nostalgia's sake. Maybe in another dozen years, to mark the sign's 100th birthday.

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Penalties R Us

Christ almighty. They're on the road, so by the time I worked late, went to the grocery store, got home and made a couple of brief phone calls we're losing to Phoenix 4-0 late in the second. Then Gleason and Conroy go off hurt, Robitaille is already out and LaBarbera gets yanked for Garon to start the third. Come on, man. It seems like the Kings have taken about a dozen penalties since I tuned in, including a two man disadvantage we just managed to kill. But at this point there's only about 5 minutes left and all we can do is try to score so we don't get shut out. The only positive is that Gleason came back in the third, so we don't lose him to injury. Thank freaking God. And now, I am officially sick to f'ing death of the Yotes howl. It's no "I Love L.A.", that's for sure. Cujo gets his 45th career shutout at our expense. Screw you Gretzky. But hey...how about those Pens?

Dude, you got skunked!

Dude being my mom's mega-cat Bill (I swear he has to weigh 25 pounds, he's like Guiness Book of World Records fat - this picture doesn't do him corpulent justice). Bill met skunk yesterday, skunk won. Now he reeks. Mom called to see if I knew what to do. I checked the internet, the traditional tomato sauce bath may or not work depending who you ask. There was another, more elaborate bath involving hydrogen peroxide, but my mom wasn't interested. After shredding her rugs and drapes, eating her dining room chairs (seriously) and running up big-buck vet bills due to various run-ins with various critters, she seems to have run out of patience with him. I can't blame her, Wilma was never this high maintenance. On the other hand, as destructive as he can be, he is terribly sweet. Big fat thing with this wimpy little meow...