Fair dramz

 

See that title? Dramz? Oh yeah. I'm hip and happening although using the word "dramz" about preparing baked goods for the county fair could be considered a tad oxymoronic, although I'm going for ironic.

With my oven up and running, I got a good start on my annual fair baking and put together my first batch of pie crust dough. I chilled it properly, but when I went to roll it out it was all crumbly and fell apart. So I added more water and set it to chill some more. The same thing happened. I'd read that although you want the butter room temperature for baking, for pie dough, you want it cold when you mix the dough. I'd also noted that using a food processor to cut the butter in is the new thing.

So I went and used Rob's Target birthday card and bought a food processor. I made more dough. It fell apart. I actually rolled it out and tried to put the apples in it, but in the end it was so pathetic-looking with all my patches. So I went for batch No. 3, adding more butter so it would hold together better. I chilled the (blank) out of it.

By this time I was wondering if the whole thing was worth the effort. I decided to make some cookies to clear my head. I had what looked like a great oatmeal cookie recipe -- all butter, oats and goodness -- and made that. But when I cooked them at the temperature called for in the recipe, they burned. I just about threw in the dish towel. But I collected myself, lowered the oven 25 degrees and made eight perfect oatmeal cookies.

I took out the chilled pie dough and rolled it out under wax paper. This is a great solution when the crust is fussy, but can lead to creases in the dough, which are easy to cover with sugar or something. I managed to get the pie put together looking reasonably good, all brushed with cream and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. It cracked while it was cooking, and there isn't much you can do then, but it looked pretty good. The people at the Fair entry place were all encouraging, coming over to say how nice it looked. (FYI, my Big Secret for pie baking is that I'm the best crust crimper, which really sets off a great pie.)

This year's pie is a gamble. My peaches aren't quite ready, which sucks because there are about a million of them. I decided against a peach pie, then, and made an apple pie, using the apples from the Ojai farmers market guy, who gave me a few extra when I told him they were for a county fair pie. They are amazing gala apples that are all crisp and fresh. But apple pie is the most entered pie category, so there's a good chance I could not get a blue ribbon.

The same hubris led to my entering the most popular cookie categories, sugar, oatmeal and chocolate chip. I want to go up against the best and win. But there's a good chance I won't because these things are so subjective. I've judged quite a few cooking contests and know that when you get up to a certain level of cooking the favorite is determined by individual preference.

This is especially true of the chocolate chip cookies. I'd been messing with recipes to get just the right cookie and each batch was disappointing ndespite promises of being gooey and good. I made some cookies for Courtney and Dave and we all agreed they weren't contest-winning calibre. So Courtney and I sat around and discussed what we consider to be our perfect chocolate chip cookie. We like them buttery, soft, chewy and nice and thin, setting off the chocolate chips, which are always Giardelli.

I decided to take the original Tollhouse cookie recipe as my starting point because no matter how much and far you search it's the Tollhouse recipe that is the Gold Standard of chocolate chip recipes. I cut back on the flour by about a quarter of a cup. I cut the baking soda to 1/2 teaspoon because I HATE the taste of baking soda in my cookies and it's very easy to detect if you've used too much. I also cut the temperature back from the 375 degrees called for, which is way too hot. It works best, carefully monitored, around 355 degrees. The resulting cookies are my version of the perfect chocolate chip cookie. But we'll see what the judges think.

The sugar cookies are a recipe that is unusual for a sugar cookie because it has no eggs and lots of cornstarch. They melt in your mouth. But they don't look very good just dropped by spoon and cooked. So I rolled them in balls and rolled the balls in some superfine sugar. This made a really cool-looking round, shiny cookie and the sugar crust gives the cookie an extra sweet crunch. I've tried making traditional cookies the past two years and always got second place, so we'll see how this works.

Rob makes fun of my obsession with the county fair. But, as I pointed out to him, at this point in our lives it is our interests and hobbies that fulfill us and there's nothing wrong with wanting to be recognized for cooking. This year was particularly grueling because along with all the problems with the recipes, my hip and ankle made moving torturous. (I'm going to develop tooth problems if I have to keep gritting my teeth in pain. I have physical therapy and an appointment with a podiatrist this week so I'm hoping for some relief.)

But this morning when I piled the dogs in the car and we set out to enter the stuff, I realized how much I really love walking in the gate amid all the booths and buildings set up to go with the end results of all my hard work. There's always a breeze from the ocean and there's always that delightful sense of anticipation for the fair. No wonder it's one of my favorite things.

UPDATE:
Well, the pie got second place. I figure it must be the crack in the crust that made it less than perfect. Also the apples sat around for a long time before I made it and lost a lot of moisture.
The cookies all got honorable mentions. I HATE honorable mention -- not even good enough to get an actual prize. I really thought these cookies were extraordinary. But as I said it's all so subjective ... sigh. Oh yeah, the cookies I submitted for the fair didn't have edges as dark as in the pictures. Those are the leftover cookies.

Catch up

I'm home. Once of the best things about living in Ventura is coming home. Of all the places I've lived in my life, this is the first that I've actually felt joy and anticipation whenever I come back from a trip -- as opposed to the letdown I'd feel in Ohio or Colorado or New Jersey.

Coming back here is a joy. I can't wait for my first glimpse of ocean nestled in mountains. I yearn for my deep blue sky and my quaint little seaside town that always feels like vacation.

I also can't wait to get to my farmer's market in Ojai where I found some really cool looking wildflowers for sale. Rob had to take a picture because he fancies himself some kind of Ansel Adams, but with a gay sensibility.

I also had to make my obligatory cake for my monthly meeting. Our oven, however, was broken. I went to use it and it wouldn't get hot. I looked online and it said it was probably the ignitor, which is the element that has to get hot to ignite the gas -- thus the name, I suppose.

A few years back our oven decided to quit. The house was covered by one of those home warranties and we called them and they sent out repairman after repairman, who ordered part after part. As they started to replace parts they'd already replaced, I threw a fit and demanded a new oven -- it had been 4-plus months -- which we got. They left the parts behind and I went through them and found an ignitor.

Rob took the oven apart and found where the ignitor attached, but the connecting wires went into a little hole in the back of the oven. We were flummoxed. Did we have to take the entire oven apart to get to the connector? How were we going to get to the connection to install the part? So I had a repairman come out after the first guys refused to if we already had the part(WTF?.) The first thing he does is pull on the old ignitor pulling the wires and their connectors out of the hole in the main oven where it easily connected. Rob and I were pissed. We essentially paid $84 to have some guy pull the damned wires through the dammed hole. Dammit! He was nice and didn't charge us much because we'd "already done all the work."

This entire drama led to my having to come up with a cake that I didn't have to bake. So I decided to make a trifle. It came out great and was really easy to make and it feeds about a million people because I put it in this really cool, giant trifle dish my friend Kim gave me.

Strawberry/lemon trifle

2 family size Sara Lee pound cakes cut into 3/4 to 1 inch squares
4 tablespoons Torani hazelnut syrup
2 10.5 ounce jars lemon curd, available at Trader Joe's (this is all natural and better than the bright yellow curds sold elsewhere). It's the store brand.
2 large boxes instant Jello vanilla pudding prepared according to directions
3 pints fresh strawberries sliced lengthwise into fourths
1 pint heavy whipping cream whipped
3 tablespoons sugar
2 teaspoons vanilla

Spread 1/4 of the pound cake squares in bottom of trifle dish. Sprinkle with 1 tablespoon hazelnut syrup. Top with one jar of lemon curd spread over top. Spread another 1/4 of the pound cake squares. Top with syrup. Put half the strawberries on top. Put one prepared box of pudding spread on top of the strawberries. Put another quarter cup of the pound cake on top, spread around. Sprinkle with syrup. Spread second jar of lemon curd on top. Spread the last 1/4 of the pound cake squares on top. Top with remaining strawberries -- reserving a few for decoration. Top with second box of prepared pudding. Refrigerate. Right before serving top with the pint of whipped cream -- reserve a portion for people to serve themselves separately.

Visiting Ohio

I've been in Ohio for a week now visiting my daughter Courtney. who's just had baby No. 2. The visit has been tough because she and I haven't been feeling very well lately. Me, I'm still recovering from being hit by a truck -- the pain in my back is excruciating, and then I got some kind of stomach bug -- most likely from the plane trip. Courtney is recovering from an emergency C-Section, which for those who don't know a great deal rougher than a planned one. They pretty much beat on her stomach to get little Alex out because he was in distress. That and a resulting infection has made recovery difficult. Then she got my stomach flu.

I mentioned to Dave that I hadn't had a bad stomach since I'd stopped drinking. It really sucks because it's not as though I'd "earned" it. The indignation is greater. Rob's birthday was Wednesday, so we celebrated it by going out to his favorite restaurant in the Dayton area -- the Paragon. It's our favorite along with the Pine Club and we always go there when we visit. We took a sign so we could put it on Flickr. Dave thought we were dorks.

Lindsay organized a nice surprise dinner for Rob, although he found out and I had to tell him. But he went and had fun, which I knew he would. Rob's not comfortable with any kind of public attention so any birthday acknowledgement upsets him greatly. Kim and Dennis, Shelby, Dave, Lindsay and Ryan were all there. I sent him flowers, but they never got there (Watch out for flowers.com -- their service is quite spotty.)

Courtney, Dave and I went to see the latest Harry Potter movie. Here's the thing: EVERYONE has read the book when he/she goes to the movie so there can't be much deviation. But Rowling writes such long -- and delicious -- tomes that they have to be hacked for a movie. I think I speak for many Potter fans when I say it's kind of hard when you're filling in all the missing parts in your head. But we saw it in a digital, big-screened theater which is a great place for Harry Potter films because they have such great special effects.

One regional note: In Ohio people bolt for the door the minute the credits hit the screen. In California -- at least in our part of Cali., people read all the credits. I figure it's because so many people work in the entertainment industry in Southern California.

Why I hate McDonalds, part XVII

I hate McDonalds. It's not the food -- after all McDonalds' food is what it is -- fatty crap. And sometimes you're just in the mood for a Big Mac or their breakfast food, which generally consists of fatty, greasy sausages, dry biscuits and manufactured cheese. Generally, I avoid McDonalds and can go for about a year between Big Macs -- two teeny, weenie beef patties with slimy sauce, lots of bread, processed cheese and shredded lettuce, which somehow come together to make a marvel of modern cuisine.

No, my problem with McDonalds is the service. They seem to employ the stupidest, rudest, laziest people available in any locale. In Ventura the big problem is that they often man the drive-thrus with non-English speaking people. This means that any deviation in an order is met with general lack of comprehension, a long wait, a manager whose English is only slightly less limited and -- most likely -- a screwed up order. If there's anything that's frustrating it's giving in to the base instinct that drove you to McDonalds in the first place and then getting home and finding that they didn't get your order right.

Rob and I get a kick out of the Ventura McDonalds because they have a sign up: If you have any comments or complaints call ***** (I forget the name). Most days the sign has been carefully covered up by the workers. Don't even try to contact the McDonalds corporate headquarters. You'll get back a form letter, the gist of which is "Sorry about that bad experience, but all McDonalds are franchises and you need to contact your franchise owner directly," which I translate to "It's not our problem."

So when I came to Ohio, I figured the service had to be better. After all people in Ohio can at least speak and understand English. I went to the McDonald's closest to Courtney and Dave's house here in Bellbrook and made it into the long line at 10:25 a.m. They took my order, but it took more than 10 minutes to give it to me and they'd switched to lunch. This meant they didn't have my breakfast sandwich -- a sausage biscuit -- available and they sure as Hell weren't going to make me one -- as the manager made clear. So they gave me a bacon, egg and cheese. Sure, you're wondering, why didn't they just scrape the bacon egg and cheese off and put a damned sausage in the biscuit -- but that would require way too much cognitive ability for your average McDonalds worker.

I came home frustrated and Dave and Courtney laughed because I always get riled when I come into contact the basic stupidity of the Midwestern minimum wage worker. They can speak English, but it doesn't seem to matter much because they're so rude and they really don't care.

The next day Dave came home after getting breakfast for all of us. He'd ordered two sausage biscuits. But when he unwrapped what was labelled as a sausage biscuit he only found a biscuit. Then he noticed a container and opened it. There he found the sausage. Apparently this was a build-it-yourself sausage biscuit.

I had to take a picture of it because it goes to show why I avoid the place. I guess "rude idiot" must be a job requirement.

Hoo-ray for the red, white and blue (cake)

 

I have taken on a commitment where I have to supply a group with a cake each month. I really enjoy it because strangers tend to be very complimentary about home-baked goods and my creations from scratch are always well received. Rob and I were out and about last night when I remembered that it was cake time.

I'd been wanting to make a flag cake ever since I'd seen the idea from Kraft. The thing about Kraft's recipe that turns me off is that it's essentially Jello with packaged pound cake and Cool Whip. It looks cool, but doesn't really meet my criteria for something I'd prepare. My former mother-in-law Katie used to scold me by saying I was "such a purist." She's right, though. I really do maintain a certain standard for my cooking.

I've never been a big fan of boxed cake mix cake and when I decided to be the "cake lady" I took it as an opportunity to hone my cake-baking skills. I've always loved to cook, but baking -- as Rachael Ray so often notes -- requires the ability to follow recipes pretty exactly. Baked goods follow a much more precise chemistry to make them work than other foods. The whole science of rising, tenderness, etc., is very exact. This actually works for me because I'm pretty good at scientific experimentation. I worked for my dad for years mixing newspaper inks in the lab and you have to be pretty meticulous when you're working on formulations. Baking is very similar to lab work and, in fact, requires many of the same types of tools.

My experimentation with cakes has been fun and -- so far -- I've managed not to have a disaster. My white cake with chocolate frosting came close because I refrigerated the cake and the frosting became hard and actually had to be broken into pieces to serve with the cake. But the flavor and textures were great.

The recipe I used for my flag cake is one I've used before. I found it on a box of Droste Cocoa, which is the best Dutch process cocoa you can get. I was out of cocoa and thought I'd thrown out the box, so I went to get some more -- it's pretty pricey, $10 for 8 ounces -- and I figured I'd find the recipe there. But the package has changed and it's no longer on the box.

I didn't panic because I'd find the recipe on the Internet, I thought. Fortunately I found the old box, which I'd tucked away even though it was empty, with the recipe when I got home from the store. It's a good thing, because the recipe isn't on the Web site.

I'm copying it here so I'll never lose it. This is a buttermilk chocolate cake that is rich and velvety in texture. The icing is a revelation. Follow the directions to a T, making sure to beat the icing until the cream whips. This makes a light, cream-cheese, orange-flavored icing that may be the best I've ever tasted.

Droste Chocolate-Buttermilk Cake

3/4 cup boiling water
3/4 cup Droste Cocoa
1 cup buttermilk
2 1/2 cups flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup butter, softened
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla, frosting (Recipe follows)

Preheat oven to 350F. Grease and flour three 9-inch round layer cake pans. Pour boiling water over Droste cocoa to dissolve. Stir in buttermilk, set aside to cool. Sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt. Beat together butter and sugar in large bowl with electric mixer at medium speed until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Stir in vanilla. Beat dry ingredients into flour mixture alternating with Droste cocoa mixture. Pour into pans, dividing batter equally. Bake for 25 minutes or until centers sprang back. Cool cakes for 10 minutes and turn out of pans. Frost each layer with frosting and refrigerate.

Frosting:
Beat 8 ounces cream cheese to soften. Beat in 1/2 cup sifted confectioners' sugar until smooth. Beat in 2 tablespoons orange-flavored *liqueur and 1/2 teaspoon vanilla. Beat in another 3/4 cup confectoners' sugar. Add 1 1/2 cup heavy whipping cream and beat until whipped, stiff and fluffy.

Notes: I used a 13 x 9 inch pan, so the baking time increased by about 18 minutes. Use Baker's Joy to grease the pan -- it's great stuff and works better than any buttering and flouring you can do. I'm lazy and tend to mix my dry ingredients by whisking them rather than sifting. It seems to work just fine. I check for doneness using a toothpick. If it comes out clean, the cake is done. Make sure the cake is completely cool before frosting because the icing has the consistency of slightly thicker whipped cream and becomes runny easily. It's actually best to chill the cake a bit before frosting. Make sure to refrigerate the frosted cake for that reason. Don't put berries on the cake until close to serving time so they don't get runny and mushy. I used raspberries instead of strawberries because they're in season and on sale. This was actually Rob's idea and the raspberry/blueberry thing is actually quite delicious. Making a flag means that only a few people get blueberries because the blue is concentrated on the one corner. Have some extra berries on hand for sprinkling on the rest of the cake. *I use orange extract, rather than liqueur and it tastes great.

I may be a snob about my cooking, but this recipe is certainly worth the extra effort.

Romantic

 

 

Rob and I have tended not to be romantic about such things as anniversaries. We met on June 22, 1988, when I picked him up at a bar after being admonished, "Watch out for that guy. He has crazy eyes." Talk about your turn-ons. I would say meeting Rob would rank as the No. 1 romantic thing that's ever happened to me. The first time I touched his hand I felt an immediate surge -- not just of lust, but something more. And he held my hand back, which looking back is weird because Rob is tactile-aversive. Of course, he probably thought he was getting laid, or at least that there was a possibility, and he could manage to touch if sex was on the horizon, I suppose.

We were immediately besotted and Rob was living in my house within 48 hours. We decided to get married at the end of the summer, after the kids met each other, because we wanted to do it before school started. I can't remember why school starting was important in the marriage decision, but it was for some reason. We had Rob's mom track down a Justice of the Peace who could do it as soon as possible. Actually in Ohio, there are no JPs -- real judges perform weddings. Rob's mom found some guy in Miamisburg who was running for re-election to marry us.

We got our wedding license the previous Thursday at 4:55 p.m., much to the disgust of the civil servants, which was the minimum advance for getting married on the following Monday. In Ohio you have X number of days after you get the wedding certificate, with a minimum wait of about 3 to 4 days and a maximum of -- I can't remember, maybe 30 or 60 days or something. Getting the wedding certificate on Thursday gave us Friday, Saturday and Sunday -- fortunately the waiting period is counted in actual days, not business days, but then so are marriages.

I ran around getting a ham and cake because we'd invited people over after the event. We all got dressed up. I got flowers and made a daisy ring in my hair. I got one of the best compliments ever when one of the baggers at the Krogers said, "I always dreamed that if I get married that my bride would look exactly like you."

We piled the kids in the car and headed to Miamisburg where the ceremony was performed in the judge's teenie office with papers strewn everywhere. The girls were so disappointed that they didn't get to be flower girls in some big ceremony. Rob's son, Jesse, was relieved. We stopped at TGIFriday's after and had a family dinner and headed home to the rest of our relatives.

I always had trouble remembering the date of the wedding because Rob and I were together as of June 22. I knew it was the Monday before school started in 1988, so one year I looked it up on a perpetual calendar. We got married Aug. 28, but we never remember to celebrate it. We're a little better about the June 22 date, but only because I like to celebrate it -- kind of. I tend to get weighed down by all the birthdays and anniversaries and holidays we celebrate and if I can limit one celebration to just a dinner out, if we feel like it, that's good enough for me.

Of course, this doesn't stop us from trying each year to catch the other being thoughtless and forgetting, which isn't hard because more often than not we both forget. The person who remembers first tries to act all hurt and is never taken seriously. It becomes part of the score of light comic opera that is our marriage.

I remembered our anniversary this year because I was shopping anyway -- I was at the pet store. They have cute cards so I got Rob one. We're suckers for pet cards and get them from all the pets to each other. It fills up the mantle and lets us pretend we have lots of people who care about us. I didn't get him anything else because other than a shock collar, there isn't much at a pet store for him.

When we got home I was trying to get it up on the mantle so I could prove -- once again -- to Rob that he's a thoughtless lout. He, however, figured out my plan and so he took the lobster bisque he'd brought home from lunch that day and with his fingernail wrote "I love you" in the Styrofoam. I say I win because I had an anniversary-dedicated item, but he says he wins because he actually bought me something. I tried to claim that his leftovers don't count, but he successfully pointed out that he must have bought the bisque for me because he wouldn't eat that in his wildest dreams, which is true. The lobster bisque was great BTW.

So there it is, my anniversary present. I'm practically giddy in anticipation of what he's going to do for our 20th anniversary next year.

***

Fair time is coming up so I'm trying out different sugar cookie recipes. These were "crispy sugar cookies." They're OK, but they're not contest winners. I'm going to try out "Crystal diamonds next."

Alexander Robert Koverman

Born: June 18
10:13 a.m. EDT
7 pounds 3 ounces
21 inches
The newest Mr. Koverman decided the whole giving-birth-naturally was not dramatic enough for his bad self. So he decided to wrap himself in his umbilical cord, which he had knotted for good measure. This caused his vital signs to drop during contractions, so it was C-section time. Courtney said all and sundry were impressed by the level of tangling this one had done to his umbilical cord -- she always said during the pregnancy that this one made Cody seem calm. She complained a couple of times that she was sure he was coming out through her stomach wall -- kind of "Alien"-style. And, as she pointed out, he did finally achieve this goal.

Anyway Grandson No. 2 is here and appears healthy. He has a voracious appetite and has no interest in bottles and pacifiers, preferring the breast. This is more in line with my experience with his mother and her sister, both of whom refused formula from Day One.

I'm totally bummed that I can't be there. I have a hemotoma on my hip -- the one that was hit by a TRUCK -- and it's holding a couple of quarts of blood, the doctor estimated. There's also not a lot that can be done and the damned thing portrudes about four inches off my right side. My doctor says it will be a long time healing -- months and months. As if I need a few extra inches on my hips. I'm still pretty sore and have no stamina. The doctor says my blood count must be low what with all the bleeding. The whole thing is making me cranky.

I'll probably head out in early July (ewwwwwww! July in Ohio sucks). Cody met his new little brother and was seriously unimpressed. There was some generalized poking at the new "thing." Then he cuddled with mommy and his juice box.

Courtney is still in the hospital recovering from her emergency C-section. I imagine she must be getting quite bored by now. She and Dave need to move to California, so she can be closer.

Recovery

 

 

I've spent the past week mostly sleeping as I set about the task of recovering for having been HIT BY A TRUCK.

I'm still kind of amazed at the whole thing. I keep looking for evidence that mitigates what happened, that I was slammed into by a big, red truck that was barreling toward me. But there is nothing. We recovered the bike and the steel frame is bent. As Lindsay points out, when I was hit, what was between that frame and the truck was MY LEG.

I remember the impact -- it was that BAM you see in movies -- Jackie Chan does it best. I thrown more than 10 feet, and I didn't break anything. I took the full impact on my hip and the entire area is sore: the muscles are torn, my right shoulder which was hit second is less sore, but it pretty achy. Moving is kind of hard and slow and driving really hurts my hip.

The road rash is healing quickly, but the aches and pains are just now emerging. My right knee feels as though I have ground glass in the joint, even when I'm sitting. I'm sure other problems will emerge. One thing about accident like this is the effects take a while to emerge.

I keep wondering if I'm supposed to be getting some kind of sign from the heavens or something, I mean it is nothing short of miraculous that I was spared broken bones, or even a good laceration. Rob chalks it up to me being one "tough bitch," which Dave concurs.

It doesn't FEEL all spiritual-awakening or anything. It feels like some dumbass hit me with his truck because he was driving like all of those assholes with oversized trucks do -- aggressively and stupidly. These guys never seem to think the rules apply to them and they are constantly causing accidents like this. Too bad I can't start an anti-asshole in a bigass truck who drives like shit campaign. At least rising gas prices are driving some of them off the road.

So I'm wondering if this Christmas instead of "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer," which is Dave's new favorite song because he's a funny guy that way, if they'll sing "Grandma Got Run Over by a Red Truck."

At least -- sniff, sniff -- Grandma will BE there this Christmas -- unless, of course, a blood clot from one of my bruises comes loose and ends up in my brain and I have a massive aneurysm and die.

On that note:

The food that's emerged from this whole ordeal is Toad in the Hole. Actually it's Toad in the Hole in V for Vendetta, a movie Rob and I consider to be highly under-rated BTW.

The real British Toad in the Hole is more sausage in a Yorkshire-type pudding, but this one just screams out comfort. I cut a hole in the bread with an inverted wine glass and fry the bread in butter. I crack the egg into the hole. Cook until starting to set and flip, cook some more and serve. This is a dish everyone makes and I can see why. There's something so comforting about the egg nestled in the bread hole; the whole thing browned in plenty of butter, which smells so good cooking. And the taste of bread, egg and butter is the right kind of bland but good for when you're feeling bad. It's kind of like a hug from mommy on a plate.

Guess who got hit by a truck?

Yep. That would be me.

I had taken my customary bike ride to the beach. It's less than 2 miles from here and there is a bike trail almost the whole way, which makes it pretty safe -- well most of the time. My arthritic knees were bothering me and I thought a good bike ride would loosen them up. I ride an old cruising bike I got from Sam's Club about nine years ago. I have a basket on it with flowers and I toodle down, being passed by the coolass bicyclists with their ridiculous Tour De France outfits (as if) and expensive racing bikes. Me, I wear gym shorts, t-shirts or wifebeaters. It was a cool day so I had a t-shirt on.

There is one part of the trail that crosses a really busy intersection where Stanley Avenue feeds into Hwy 33. The crossing is well-marked and they even added flashing lights that are set off when you cross pylons next to the road. The bike crossing signs even blink.

I was on my way home and all the cars had stopped. I was just passing a stopped white van with handicapped license plates when I realized that some guy in big, shiny, red pickup was barreling toward me. It was an "Oh Shit" moment. A close-your-eyes-and-hope-for-the-best moment. And POW! He had locked up his brakes, but too late. He hit me. I went flying.

I had been in the road but found myself lying on the side, on my back with my head hanging off the curb. My helmet had been knocked off and I'd been thrown clear of the bike. There was kind of a collective "Ohhhhhhhhhh" from whoever was there -- it was a busy time of day.

I had always thought that if anyone hit me like this that I would curse them out. But when the time came, I was in so much pain and shock it seemed best to conserve my energy. Besides the dumbass looked stricken -- as well he should have. People came running and I told them to call 911. Someone suggested I get my head up from the street.

A paramedic showed up, but he explained he was taking a patient to Vista Del Mar from Santa Barbara. In California a paramedic on a non-emergency transport must stop if he/she is first at the scene of an accident. He stabilized me. Stabilizing in an accident means not moving the head. The fire department guys showed up and the dude there noticed that ants were crawling all over me. But of course. I've been thrown 10 feet by a truck and I land in an ant hill. I felt as though I were starring in a macabre foreign art film. He brushed them off and got me on the board. He tried to sit me up, but I got really dizzy and told them I was getting shocky and needed to be put down.

The real paramedics showed up and they got me up and into the ambulance. She hooked me up to a saline drip, which was a good idea because I was going into shock and I needed the fluid. She also gave me oxygen. Riding in ambulances, while cool, is not the most comfortable of experiences, although the paramedic was great. She called Rob, saying she was "calling for his wife" to Stacey the office person at Rob's work. Rob said he thought, "Calling for my wife," that can't be good. I got on the phone and told him I'd been hit by a truck and he needed to meet me at the hospital.

They had me on the board waiting for a doctor for what seemed like forever before Rob got back there. I was so glad to see him. We spent the next few hours mostly waiting. The nurse came in and asked where I hurt and dabbed at the most severe road rash (see above). Rob ended up going over me and cleaning the rest of me off, including my knees and my thumb. They took me back for X-rays, which was unbelievably painful because my body didn't want to move at this point. But as soon as the Dr. saw there was no damage to my spine, he let them take me off the board.

Those boards have to be the most uncomfortable things ever invented and I'd spent almost three hours on this one. They do save lives, but, man they are not built to make you feel better. When I slid off the feeling was almost blissful. Well, as blissful as you can feel after getting hit by a truck.

They ascertained I didn't have any broken bones, although they didn't really x-ray more than my hip -- which bore the brunt of the impact, and head and neck. My swollen thumb hasn't been looked at and my right shoulder has been causing more and more pain.

The doctor had said he wanted to observe me with the head wound -- my helmet had been shattered and I a nice lump on my forehead -- before giving me pain meds. This sucked because I was completely responsive (hey, I watch House and ER, I know Dr. talk).

The Dr. finally ordered pain meds -- not Demerol, which I've found makes me really woozy, but doesn't stop the pain. They gave me Dilaudid and some kind of anti-nausea chaser and that helped some. I was released and sent home to mend with a prescription for Vicodin and orders not to take hot showers.

So here I am, up at 5 a.m. because I still hurt a lot, Vicodin or no Vicodin. Overall I was extremely lucky. At my age, something like this can be pretty devastating. Most people -- especially women -- who fall seem to break bones. But I didn't break anything and am actually getting around pretty well. Considering that I got hit by a truck.

The nurse at the ER asked me where I rode my bike and I told her, "I ride on the Ventura Trail bike path because I'm afraid to ride on the streets. I'm afraid some asshole will hit me."

Wedding wrapup

Well, it's come and gone and I'm starting to recover. I'm feeling the intense sense of relief when something you've been working for for a long time, something you've put an enormous amount of energy, both physical and emotional, into, has passed. Each day I realize I have nothing left to plan. No more lists to review. No more ideas to hatch.

It was the party of my lifetime and it went off really well. Of course, I'm obsessing over all the things I DIDN'T get done. The groomsmen never had corsages -- I never got to it. I did the cake at the last moment, but it looked pretty. I didn't get a chance to take a picture before the bride had hacked into it. I made a throwing bouquet and I was able to find perfect orchids at the Ventura Farmer's market right Saturday morning.

I got a late start to the day because I had an obligation from 9 to 10 a.m. I couldn't get out of. Then I had to get the orchid and some more cash. So it was late when I got home. Rob and I got into one of our customary pre-Big Event fights. It has a lot more to do with a fundamental lack of complimentary work styles. I'm direct and can get hyper. Rob can dither and get scattered. Scattered can make me frantic. It gets ugly.

Then the middle refrigerator door shelf decided to take this moment to completely shatter when I opened the refrigerator door. The shelves on our Samsung developed cracks within a year of having the fridge. Everything -- barbecue sauce, A-1, salad dressings, pickles, mustards and other condiments shattered on our tile floor.

I couldn't handle it and left Rob to clean up the mess, which he had to get to right away because of the pets.

When I got to Ojai, I was the first one there. It was 11:30 a.m., which wasn't a really good sign. But I enjoyed the peace. The first person to arrive was Lindsay's hair stylist we'd hired for the day. Soon there was a steady trickle and I was running around. My big task was to get the alter ready. I had brought climbing red roses from my backyard. I'd been planning on using them for months and they were almost spent, but they still looked good. Problems with balancing proved as difficult as I'd thought they would, so arranging the flowers was a challenge.

I was able to get the perfect effect with the climbing roses. then I put white lilies in clear vases with white and clear pebbles on the bottom on top of small white columns. I brought bunch of ivy from home and we ran that from the vases down the columns and filled the vases with white lilies. These were framed in back by four silver vases of multicolored gladiolas.

These came from fiftyflowers.com, which I highly recommend. The gladiolas were an amazing array of colors and were spectacular as they opened. I also had ordered calla lilies, the kind with a tinge of pink on the edges and 6,000 rose petals. The white lilies, along with stargazers, regular yellow and red lilies and alstroemera came from my local flower guy who gives me really great flowers for a really good price.

Rob got the idea to give the flowers to a local hospital and after the wedding, we left some there for the senior center and gave some to a convalescent care center behind Ojai Valley Hospital. We felt so good about ourselves we went and spit on some homeless people to make up for it.

The tables looked good, with green and blue napkins and the little boxes looked great. After I'd filled all the favor boxes I'd bought to replaced the printed ones -- seriously about two hours later, the printed ones arrived. So I had to move all 300+ cookies to the new boxes. The package also contained little fabric dark red roses with fabric leaves, which looked perfect on the boxes. So I hot-glued them all on. I also printed out programs for the wedding on some really good stock I got from Michaels'. I used a picture of Ryan and Lindsay on them and I thought they looked good.

The centerpieces were a bit of a disappointment because the tables tilted and they didn't get quite the floating effect I was looking for. But they didn't look bad. The 6,000 rose petals looked fantastic on the tables.

My nephew Sean took on the role of coordinator. We weren't going to hire someone because we thought they'd get in the way. Sean stepped up and ordered us all around like a pro. He had to yell at me to get going and I was able to get home, dressed and back to Ojai in an hour. I was 15 minutes late, but hey, a good wedding should always keep you waiting.

The ceremony was really lovely. Sweet, simple and loving. My friend Kim sang, the flowers looked lovely. The bridal party looked gorgeous. The groomsmen looked handsomely studly. There was even the obligatory cute moment when the ringbearer got confused and had to be helped over to his place by one of the groomsmen.

We had cocktail hour and Miguel from Dearmore Catering, where Lindsay had worked for years, had made all kinds of fresh fruits, guacamole, cheese and stuffed mushrooms. Janine took lots of pictures. The dinner was fabulous, with tritip, salmon, chicken, rice and salad. I was really pleased.

The toasts were nice, although the DJ did thank the hosts Briggs Gamblin and Nicholas Guzik, which kind of stuck under my craw, especially as I ran around at the end handing out ungodly amounts of money, in addition to the money I'd already spent. Briggs had kicked in some cash and deserved a shout out, but this was mostly Rob and me.

It was kind of weird because Rob and I knew so few of the people at the wedding. Lindsay is my little outgoing dynamo and she knows more people than Bill Clinton, so she had tons of friends to invite. By about 9 p.m. I was so tired I was about to collapse, so Rob and I headed home. The party continued from only about another hour or so, although it moved to Dave and Mark's (groomsman and best man's) apartment.

Lindsay has been running around saying she felt as though she had "a $20,000 wedding." She's got to be kidding. It would have cost a lot more, but we really saved by renting the Little House of Ojai, which is an amazing site for very little money. Dearmore Catering did the wedding at cost, plus a tip -- I made sure it was a good one. The flowers were a lot less expensive than if they'd been done by a florist and to-it-yourself decorations would be good if I were better at guaging how much I need. The rentals were what rentals are and there's not too much you can do about it. We did get a professional discount through the Dearmore connection. So it worked out well as far as bang for the buck. But the incidentals, the special makeup and hair people, the wedding cake, the five host help people at $25 an hour and the dress and veil all add up. The only things we didn't pay for were the DJ and the wine, beer and liquor, which is fair considering that Rob and I don't drink (although we do dance).

My dad came for the wedding, as did Paula and her family. The rest of the family was unable to make it. Joyce and Jennifer were going to come but got sick at the last minute. Mary is in some kind of snit with Briggs that she will eventually get over and come to regret. But that will be her problem. Courtney couldn't come. And now she has gallstones, so she's in no condition to go anywhere. Rick, Marilyn and Duncan all came out, which was great and Colin and Sean were there. But it's expensive to get to California and especially Ventura during Memorial Day weekend, so there wasn't more family, which is sad.

So now it's all over. It's starting to hit me that this is it. Even if there are other marriages in the future, and I hope there aren't, we aren't going all out like this one. There are no more graduations, no more schooling, no more nothing. As one of the ladies at the Senior Center said -- Little House is a senior center on weekdays -- she's a grandmom and she just has to show up at weddings. I can't wait.

Lindsay's wedding

I have a bunch of stuff to write about Lindsay's wedding, which is now, thank God, a treasured memory, both for us and for our bank balance. It took place without a hitch on a gorgeous day in Ojai. The hitches happened before when we first discovered that Courtney couldn't be here and then after Joyce and Jennifer cancelled at the last moment because they were sick. I hear from everyone that there is some kind of nasty bug working its way around. It's one of those things that sucks but there's nothing you can do about it.

I'm posting a boatload of photos on my Flickr site, which is under my name or "Princey's pics."

Two of the highlights of the wedding were the toasts by the bridesmaids who stepped in for Courtney. Amber went first and everyone was impressed. It was well thought-out, funny and smart. And then Shelby came to the mike. She bemoaned having to follow Amber and then shared her poem she wrote. It was short and it was hysterical.

When Rob went back up to the place we rented for the wedding to clean up it turned out area animals had gotten into the trash and it was strewn all over. He found both speeches in the trash, so I'm transcribing them here for all to see and then Lindsay is going to put them up and save them:

First Shelby's toast:

She's his Leah to his Solo
He's her shot glass to her Barcardi O

Lindsay, at least you've still got your youth
He doesn't even care that
you're missing a tooth

Later tonight while he
kisses her lips
They'll make excellent
use of her birthing hips

When they're together it's
like totally hot
It'll end in divorce ... NOT!

Amber's toast
Hi everybody:

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Amber, and I'm here today as Lindsay Guzik's Maid of Honor. You know, if I'm Lindsay's idea of an honorable maiden, you can imagine ... Ryan's in for a pretty wild night. But before we get freaky, I have a few things to say.

Lindsay, I am honored to stand by your side today above all days.

On behalf of the bridesmaids and myself, I want to tell you how lovely and radiant you are today, and how pleased we are to share in this moment of bliss.

Lindsay and I have been friends for about seven years. Over that time, she has taught me a lot about friendship and loyalty. We have a wonderful and strong relationship, built on a foundation of honestly, trust and commitment. That bedrock has given rise to very many happy memories. Like the time she came to visit me in Santa Cruz as a birthday surprise, or the time I took her on her first roller coaster ride. Yeah, that one was mostly happy for me. Of all the great memories, the fondest memory I will now have is watching her marry this wonderful and worthy man, the love of her life, Ryan.

Congratulations to you both!

One barrier I faced while thinking of what to say in this speech was the feeling that I don't know Ryan as well as I would like. I know he's tall and handsome and funny and my representative in California's state legislature, but other than that ... I'm lacking insights. He could be into dressing up like Captain Kirk* for all I know.

But as I was thinking about that, it dawned on me that I will have all my life to get to know him, because if I know Lindsay, I know the strength of her dedication, it's like a vise ... on my head ... and my vision begins to distort ... honestly, she's loyal to a fault. Even through her ... substantial ... jitters, she's made it clear that this is a couple that doesn't cross their fingers, they roll up their sleeves. There are no two people more loyal and loving, honest and hardworking, or deserving of happiness than Lindsay and Ryan.

Be good to each other. Be gentle, and you will be strong. You make one another shine. I love you both very much.

Now I would like you all to please raise your glasses and join me in a toast.

Today we all celebrate love. Your love, and what you have in each other: a best friend, a coach, a sweetheart and a partner for life. CHEERS!
*Editor's note: Kirk, not so much, however, he DOES have Spock ears -- seriously. Lindsay won't let him wear them.

The first wedding crisis

So I'd ordered personalized boxes back on April 23 from this online place called efavormart. When I'd heard nothing back by May 14, I started emailing them. They gave me a tracking number, but said my items would be "printed shortly." They had said they needed 7-10 days and this was three weeks after the order date so I wrote them asking where my order was. They stopped replying to my emails, despite the fact that they promise 24-48 hour email answer turnaround. They have no phone number listed (which I hadn't noticed when I placed the order) and there's no listing for the parent Company, Ya Ya Creations, online.

Sure, I should have looked a little harder or at least done a Google check, which immediately shows problems with this place. But it seemed like a good deal and I took a foolish leap of greedy faith. I've started a complaint with Paypal (I, at least, went through them) and have cancelled the order. I will trot out the other two items on my repertoire of get-backs to crappy companies: report them to the Federal Trade Commission and to the California State Attorney General's office. I love siccing the bureaucratic dogs on unethical people.

In the meantime I had the problem of needing approximately 150 little boxes because I had a bright idea of baking wedding cookies as the wedding favor. I made the mistake of mentioning it to Lindsay in passing, and she loved the idea. I tried to replace it with wildflower seeds or personalized M&Ms or something -- I quickly decided the idea of baking more than 300 cookies wasn't as appealing to me as it seemed to the Bride. But Lindsay would have none of my attempts at diversion so I was stuck. I decided on two cookies apiece because: A. One cookie seems kind of stupid, sitting all alone like that and B. two cookies can kind of symbolize the marriage of two people ... or something.

I set out to Michael's crafts and found the kind of boxes I need, and all of the other stuff that I'd ordered from efavormart (write than name down and avoid it all all costs). I found the aisle runner, the tulle -- yards and yard of tulle -- ribbons and other wedding stuff. I then headed to the local office supply store and got some silver metallic labels and put the information on top in burgundy script --- I just LOVE computers. I also found some truffle, candy holders (like tiny cupcake holders) to put the cookies in.

I baked up the 300-plus cookies. This took eight batches of dough and two nights. These are Courtney's favorite Christmas cookie, but I told her that she'll never see them again after this. I've used all my Christmas tins to store the cookies. While it wasn't planned, the recipe for the cookies is perfect for this because it has no eggs. It's just butter, flour, sugar, ground nuts and vanilla. But they are a pain to make because each ball has to be individually rolled into a ball and then that ball is rolled TWICE -- on two occasions, hot and cold --in confectioner's sugar.

We're going to put stretchy ribbons on them (the kind that kind of looks like ponytail holders, with elastic).

I've also realized how many flowers I've ordered. This is one of those many times when I realize I've lost my mind. So far I've ordered about 300 flowers -- Stargazer lilies, white lilies, Peruvian lilies, regular lilies, gladiolas and calla lilies for the bridesmaids to carry (with an elegant ribbon). AND I have to arrange them all the day of ... and I need at least 30 vases, and stakes to stabilize them on the ground and tons of floral tape to bind the stems so I can arrange them better ... sigh.

On the bright side, away from the darkness of my flower insanity, I found the perfect dress at Nordstram's Rack. As I told Rob there was little selection, but what does that matter when one of the choices was the perfect dress? Lindsay and I head to Ojai tomorrow to pick up the orchid frond(s) she'll carry. I just love cymbidium fronds -- tied with ribbon and it will be lovely. I haven't decided on the boutonniere yet, but with more than 300 flowers, I'm sure I can manage something.

It's like I explained to Rob -- because we really don't have the money now for this -- I never had the wedding of my dreams, through my own choices, but even so. I never even went to prom -- we were all hippies and went for a three-day "discovery" in the woods. I've never even been a bridesmaid, not even for my siblings. I've actually never attended an event where I wore a formal gown. So I've loved having girls and I loved being able to buy them their gowns for proms. They've both been beautiful bridesmaids. And now I get to see one of them get married the way I've always wanted to do it.

Courtney eloped with Dave and then had a weddin' (the origin of the usage) a year later. It was a lovely ceremony and I made the food, which turned out great -- lasagna. But we were broke as usual and didn't have the money and it really wasn't the same thing as a first-time wedding. It was also in Ohio, so I couldn't do much planning.

So this is my one time to do this the way I've always wanted. I mean the choices are the bride's and Lindsay has no problems asserting herself in the planning. But on my part, we can make sure we have nice chairs and there are tons and tons of flowers and candles and I want to look as good as I can at 50-plus and overweight. Hell I'm so psyched I bought stuff for a pedicure. I wonder if Teva makes a wedding sandal? :-)

Grandmom's boy

This whole grandmother things is such a revelation. When I had my girls, I was consumed with love for both of them. I loved watching them become little people in their own rights. It's such an added joy to watch as something that you basically grew -- kind of like a tomato plant -- actually turns into a full-fledged human adult being.

The childhood years are so much fun; just watching them learn and explore. Then they become teenagers and you realize that Nature in all her Glory made adolescents completely repulsive so that parents are more than ready to detach and let the little bastards fly free.

Now a whole new phase is here: Grandparenting. First off, it sounds fatal, which I'm not too sure I like. Grandparents don't live that long in your life. They're cherished and they have a huge impact in many cases, but they tend to be gone by your 20s and 30s. Even the ones who live longer are often so feeble that their impact is almost gone.

Then there's the whole gravitas aspect of grandparenting. You're supposed to be all wise and old; full of experience and knowledge. While I was ready to be a parent, I'm not sure I'm ready to be a dignified old person.

Be that as it may, I'm a grandmom and I'm finding that I'm drawn more and more to my little grandson. He is seriously one of the funniest babies I've ever seen. I'm not sure what it is because he's not even really talking, but he has a way that just cracks me up. He does things that are straight-out hilarious and then he'll just get involved with one of his little projects and I'm mesmerized.

Cody's shining moment during his last visit was when Lindsay had said something and we were all kind of laughing and Cody just burst in, saying really loud, "HA! HA! HA! HA!" Each Ha said clearly and distinctly from the other: it's totally making fun of whoever he's responding to. He kept doing it when we'd laugh and we'd crack up. Sometimes he'd try to make it more guffaw-y, like Courtney's horse laugh, but mostly he'd just do the HA! thing.

Courtney said they were in St. Louis between flights and they were hanging out at a restaurant. A man at the next table was there with some people she said acted like subordinates. The man told this really corny, lame joke and everyone, Courtney said, started to laugh politely because he WAS the boss, but it really wasn't funny. And Cody let loose with "HA! HA! HA! HA!" really loud, looking at the guy. Everyone just started to crack up -- rolling on the floor, tears streaming from the eyes cracked up. Courtney said the dude didn't know WHAT to do. Here's a 13-month-old making fun of him. So the guy just left.

Serves him right. If you can't laugh along with a baby, then you're way too much of an asshole IMO.

It's just that there's something about Cody -- a complete engagement with the world around him that's always been evident, that is absolutely compelling. He's a complete flirt and can be cajoled out of a crying fit just by the sight of someone smiling at him from across the room.

The kid's got a way. I called today and spoke with him. I was chirping into the phone making enthusiastic noises. I finally said, "Cody, do you miss your grandmom," at which he replied, "yeah" and gave the phone back to Courtney. I KNOW he didn't have a clue as to what I meant, or even if he heard me at all. But just the fact that he did it at the right time made me melt.

It's sad to be so far away. It will be even more sad when Alex is born because if all our instincts are right, he's going to be another Cody. It's times like these when it's hard to have your kid so far away.

The shower

 

Lindsay's bridal shower was an event befitting her. There were lots of people. There was lots of fuss. And it was a lot of fun.

There were two parts. Part 1: for the older people was the bridal shower held by Lindsay's future mother in law. She went all out, preparing tea sandwiches (which I LOVED -- I'm a total tea sandwich nut). She had games and prizes (I won two, but only got one prize ...). The cake was from the bakery that's doing the wedding cake, and it was really good. It has the whipped cream type of frosting, made with real butter, which I just love.

I had a lot of fun, but then I always have fun when I can crack myself up, which I do regularly -- such as when I dubbed Ryan "The Guz" in high school, to much hilarity, and it turned out to be his real nickname, which was even MORE hilarious. Amber and I were amusing each other and ourselves. I think the rest of the girls were just putting in their time until they could all head out in two limos to L.A. for dinner and drinks.

Alcohol was also available in the limos, so the girls had lots of boozy fun. I'm not sure when I ended up on the old side of the divide between fun and tradition, but I suppose it's a natural progression. I'm just not sure I'm ready. I suppose I must be because the thought of going to L.A. with a bunch of inebriated kids does nothing for me, but giggling about Ryan's nickname is actually a pretty good time.

Courtney enjoyed herself, although being eight months pregnant really doesn't put one in much of a partying mood. Besides it's not every day that an Ohio girl gets to take a limo to Hollywood to celebrate her sister's upcoming nuptuals.

Funnyman

 

Lindsay's bridal shower is this weekend. OK. Sigh, I can handle it. Ryan's mom is hosting, so I don't have to do anything. There will be games, which I abhor, but I'll play along in my usual sarcastic, obnoxious, but ever so clever, way.

We've all been saddened by the news that Courtney can't make it to the wedding. Her OB/GYN moved her due date up a couple of weeks so she will be two weeks from when she's expected to have baby No. 2, poor, leftover, second fiddle Alex. This pretty much precludes her from traveling and we were all bummed. Lindsay and Courtney have been extremely close their whole lives -- maybe it's the little extra genetic closeness they share, maybe it was in reaction to mommy and daddy being apart -- but they love each other dearly. So for Lindsay to get married without Courtney, who was going to be the matron of honor, is a really huge, hairy deal.

Last week Rob came up with the idea of Courtney coming out for the bridal shower. She can still travel, although it will be miserable. This was such a great idea and Courtney and Dave got the time off and here they are. Rob wanted it to be a surprise for Lindsay, but I had to hog telling her the news. I knew Courtney would tell her anyway. Rob's still fuming about that and I'm still gloating.

In anticipation of my grandson's visit, I wanted to make homemade graham crackers. I have this recipe in my cookie recipe book that I've wanted to try out and I want to give my grandson some healthy food while he's out here. He appears to be a milk junkie at the moment and it's a good idea to give him some other things to eat.

There I was last night, kneading the dough and rolling it out. Pricking it all over and baking it. I lovingly trimmed the crackers and put them in a container. When I got up I asked Rob if he'd tried one of my homemade graham crackers. He said,"What's the matter? Didn't they have them at the store?"

"What are you going to make next," he asked. "Saltines."

Ha. Ha. He's been repeating it all day, he's so proud of himself.

P.S. The graham crackers are really good and taste different from the store-bought ones.

David Sedaris ★ Steven Barclay Agency

Rob and I went to see one of our favorite authors, David Sedaris, in Santa Barbara on Saturday. I had bought the tickets for a performance by David Sedaris and Sarah Vowell as a Christmas present. I'd been searching for tickets to see David Sedaris for some time because I just love his readings on This American Life, so this seemed as though it would be a really fun thing for us to share. Rob and I rarely plan events for ourselves, so we were both pretty excited about this night out.

We had a blast.

We went to dinner at our favorite restaurant in Santa Barbara, The Paradise Cafe, which has the best hamburger around. It's oak grilled and you can get it medium and it's juicy and fantastic. I had a burger and Rob had a porterhouse steak. We made fun of the rich people -- well made fun of and envied them. There was the requisite perfectly groomed older woman whose hunched-over frailty was in direct contrast to her smooth, flawless face.

Plastic surgery in real life tends to look weird. The surgeons have it down so that there's nothing wrong with what you're seeing, but somehow up front and personal there's something jarring about a face that's seen a lot of surgery. It's too plastic, waxy and not quite real. I guess they call it plastic surgery for a reason.

There was the lady dressed in a thousand shades of green with green sunglasses. We named her The Riddler. It ended up she was going to the David Sedaris thing too and we spotted her taking her seat. I'm always taken aback by the money that's evident in Santa Barbara. I grew up around enough rich people to be able to spot the signs. Truly rich people don't tend to be all gaudy and gauche. They are understated. Their clothes look almost too casual and sloppy. But if you look closely, the haircuts are expensive and the accessories are for the rich only.

We finished our meal, which was leisurely because we got there with plenty of time and headed to the theater. The Arlington Theatre in Santa Barbara is built to resemble a Spanish courtyard, complete with adobe building fronts and a fake starry sky with painted trees. This was a good thing because it's also huge and you couldn't see the speakers. I mean you could see them all teeney up at the mike, but you couldn't make out facial features or anything.

David Sedaris started first by doing a really sarcastic piece on honesty in his stories. This is in response to an article by Alex Heard in The New Republic, an expose that reveals that Sedaris may sometimes exaggerate for comic effect. The article was roundly ridiculed by many in the literary world, including the Web site Gawker. They cite the example of Sedaris claiming he was sent to speech therapy because he was gay when, in fact, it was because he had a lisp. As it was pointed out by commentators, lisp = gay in South Carolina and in the 1950s.

Of course, something like this is way too much of a gimme for the satirist, who probably wrote Heard a thank you note, and if he hasn't he should. Sedaris' piece on honesty in his works was inspired. He ended up pondering why he should be called to task when such lies and prevarications -- like, say, weapons of mass destruction and imminent threats to the U.S., lies that have resulted in untold deaths -- are treated as "typos."

I had a great time, well, except for a couple of little things. Like the fact that my seat SUCKED and Rob wouldn't switch with me. The guy next to me had atomic breath. It was so bad it hit me like a supernuclear blast every time he laughed. This is a good way to establish a Pavlovian response. Every time Sedaris or Vowell -- who is also great -- would say something funny, I would cringe -- waiting for the wall of stink to envelop me. It was the kind of stink where you take your fingers to your nose and smell, a la Molly Shannon, to block out the other smell.

I kept trying to scootch away, but I couldn't see the stage below because there was a girl smack dab in my line of sight and she couldn't sit still. She'd go right, so I'd go left, so she'd shift left, so I'd go right and she'd go right, ad naseum. I was going to smack her. It's not as though there was much to see -- literary readings aren't exactly visual feasts -- but I at least wanted the option. No one was sitting in front of Rob, but he wouldn't switch. I probably shouldn't have told him about the bad breath.

Sedaris did some new material from early this year. It was pretty good, not as good as his lie riff, but it was good. Sarah Vowell likes to do satiric history humor. That sounds a lot more esoteric and nonfunny than it is. But she's good. She's got a real knack for the comic pop, so her bit about a cartographer from the 1800s who was hysterically unimpressed by the pioneering explorations he was undertaking, was really funny.

They did questions and answers but the venue was too big and it was awkward. We could have stayed for the book signing and meeting of the author after, but there were a ton of people there and Rob and I aren't stand in line for a rote meeting and signature kinds of people.

I always wonder why we don't do more of this kind of thing when we have so much fun every time we go out. Oh yeah, I forgot. We're lazy.

Hummingbirds

We kept noticing humming birds up by our front window today. There were a bunch of them in my peach tree, so I decided to take some pictures. The hummingbirds seem to have nested in our neighbor Dan's tree. I've spotted Dan sitting out front with his camera taking pictures of them.

Dan appears to be mad and Rob and me right now. We don't know why, but he turns his back when we come home and is quiet. He was the same way to our neighbor Ramsey, so who knows what it is. Our dogs were also hassling his dog, but his dog has hassled ours and is a LOT meaner. Who knows? And we really don't care because we're friendly neighbors -- we'll catch your dog if it's out or tell you if you've left the lights on in your car, but we're not best buddy neighbors.

Back to the hummingbirds. They've been going to the peach tree because it's been blooming. We have some of the most amazing hummingbirds here because Ventura is on a major migratory path and because of the temperate climate we see all kinds of birds that follow the coast.