More Separated At Birth

Except for their eyes, it's almost impossible to tell Amy Adams [blue/green] and Isla Fisher [hazel/brown] apart. Of course, you can always check out their husbands. Isla Fisher is the one married to Borat.

My Spring Trip To California by Mrs. Linklater

Miss me? 
          I've been going to LA fairly regularly, since taking the train out from New Orleans just before the Six Day War in 1967, but I don't think I've ever been to La La Land in April. 
          I say that because last week was the first time I've heard tree frogs crooning at dusk. How appropriate, since I nearly croaked the next day while sitting on one of the decks. There I was, enjoying the perfect weather and wonderful smells of spring, only to have my reverie suddenly interrupted by a buzzing that kept building louder and louder, like say, a swarm of bees. Then I watched in horror as a swarm of bees actually appeared, buzzing as if they were seriously ticked off as they floated down the hill, circling like a huge school of fish with wings. And stingers. Actually, I was indoors by that time. 
          Other signs I was in LA included shopping at the organic grocery store and discovering the goodness of gluten free chocolate and banana frosted cakes in handy single serving sizes. I also had an hour and a half massage from a master named Kevin [thanks, Nan]. Kevin eschews those sissy Swedish back rubs. He is from the thousand pounds of acupressure school. Why tire your fingers when a strategically placed elbow is so much faster. And despite what I thought, it doesn't leave a mark. Afterward, I caught up with all the sushi I've missed since last year.   
          I was staying at my friends' fireproof house, the one they built after their original wood home went up in the Malibu fire of 1993. See the metal roof? The R-factor must be a million. I love their house. My room was on the other side with its own private deck. I could probably sunbathe nude, but there isn't enough SPF 50 in the world to cover my backside.  

Here's a shot from the master bedroom deck

Here's a shot from an upstairs deck 

          The '93 fire that toasted a big chunk of Malibu is the one where dozens of pumpers from all over California showed up to help fight the fire and ended up parked on PCH because there weren't any maps [or people] to tell them where to go. 
          The house is located halfway up one of the ever-crumbling Santa Monica Mountains that rise 3000 above the Pacific Coast Highway. That height is only an estimate, since the mudslides keep washing things away. Driving the winding road up the hill [think 2.5 mile driveway] to the house can be an exercise in dodging deer and motorcycles. And not going over the edge, which is always RIGHT THERE.    

This trip was also the first time I've seen the echium or Pride of Madeira blooming [those cone-shaped purple fleurs above]. They look like butterfly bushes, but they aren't. Also, one of the huge century plants behind the house is getting ready to bloom. You can tell by the fourteen foot, uh, stalk. 

          Sorry, I got so caught up on the size of that stalk that when I posted this entry, I forgot to put an ending on it. So, for all practical purposes, consider this entry over and out.  

The Annual Rite of Spring -- Skinning the Pig

If you're in Indiana, that's not the smell of flowers, that's the scent of pigskin! Pork rinds and pork sandwiches, too. And if it's April, it must be the Black and Gold game at Purdue!! It's also time for my first beef lips, hooves, lungs and tongue sausage of the year -- hot dog to you. 
          Between Iowa, Notre Dame, Duke, Northwestern, Stanford, Ball State, Princeton, Georgetown, Boston College, DePaul, Loyola, Texas, Johns Hopkins, Pepperdine, San Diego State, NYU, Hamilton, Baylor, even the University of Chicago and Smith, I've got enough teams to root for, but no-o-o-o-o, my friends' son chose Purdue. 
          Yesterday GGB got to start in the annual Black and Gold game. And I got to see him play!! A lot! So much that the Indy paper posted sixteen pictures from the game and he's in four of them. 
          Here's two -- one going in for a TD. The other dragging a bunch of defenders for over ten yards, just like he did in high school.  

Between cousins, girlfriends, aunts, uncles, grandmas, and people like me, there were almost a dozen folks rooting for him in the stands. After the game, all the parents, families and hangers-on were invited to picnic with the players in a big tent. There must have been 400 people there. Most of them wearing XXL [more than a few were moms]. The coach gave a speech. Then he handed out some awards only football players could love, like the Hammer, which was a golden sledge hammer, big enough to leave a permanent mark, and the Pit Bull, which, fortunately, did not come with a dog. He talked about their incentive scrimmages -- the steak and beans game for instance. Winner gets steak. Los--oops we don't say the "L" word in West Lafayette. The non-winners get beans. 
          The food they served in the tent was worthy of any 300-pound lineman. The Purdue Family Fanatics parents' group shot video of the families as they came in. There were parent sign up sheets for newsletters and souvenirs. The biggest laugh at our table came when GGB's longtime girlfriend, who never misses a game, asked if he played offense or defense. 
          August two-a-days are just four short months away. 

Euphemia? Isn't that a kidney disease?

If you have an iPhone, you have to get this app:
      http://pixyme.com/
A buck ninety-nine.
      You can put messages on lots of things digitally and even send a postcard via snail mail. Here's a sample of stuff. And yes, I know FOUR people named Euphemia. 

And here's one for ME --

While wondering how to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the pill, I read a steamy bit of information included in Kitty Kelley's new tall-all, totally unauthorized book about Oprah. 
      She lived with John Tesh?
      Why would anyone want to live with John Tesh?
      Is this just more proof that tall, white guys with absolutely no discernible ethnic features whatsoever, can coast through life? I think that was a YES. 
      Okay, now back to my ponder on the pill. 
      

Somebody Bake a Cake

This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the pill. I found an article online about it HERE.  However, since most of the articles written about the pill are by people who weren't born until later, the writer got some information wrong:
      The first oral contraceptive, called Evonid, was introduced in the US on August 18, 1960. It quickly became available in other countries.

      Actually, the first oral contraception was called ENOVID, not EVONID, you twit. 

     Which got me wondering -- how should I celebrate this auspicious occasion? WWJD?

SI Cover Curse On Hold?

Trying to find a copy of Sports Illustrated in this town is like trying to catch flies with your nose. I finally asked somebody why there weren't any SIs in the magazine racks. "We ran out the first day. Jon Scheyer's on the cover," was the reply.
          Shoulda known. Hometown boy makes good at the NCAA championships. Now he's on the cover of Sports Illustrated. I wonder how the curse works AFTER you've taken the prize. There's nothing better to guarantee a loss than to make the cover just before a big game. Maybe the curse of being on the cover means the NBA won't draft him. Or he'll languish on a not ready for an NBA championship team. Not that he hasn't enjoyed a stellar sports career already. Besides the national championship, he also led his high school team to a state championship.  
          But now that he's been featured on the cover of SI, Murphy's Law usually kicks in -- whatever can go wrong, will. The good news is that the cover curse is short-term. The window of opportunity for bad luck closes fairly rapidly. So, maybe, Scheyer will be okay.  After all, they waited until the tournament was over. If he just stays inside for a couple of more weeks. . .

Quick Re-cap Just For Me

Okay, it's over. Duke won. Talk about winning ugly. If you turned off the sound and didn't look at the score when Duke was playing Baylor, you might think the Bears were winning. They sure had way more style points. Duke looked slow, skinny, weak, and very white. Okay, they could pound threes, but not much more. And yet, ack, they won. 
      When they played Butler for the championship, how could you not root for the underdog. Even though I went to Duke for a couple of minutes and Jon Scheyer went to my town's high school [also John Hughes' high school, btw], and assistant coach Chris Collins also went to high school here, I was screaming for Butler. And they did not disappoint.  
      Until that pale, babyfaced kid in the black socks was allowed to take the second to last shot. And missed.  And then, unbelievably, he was allowed to take the final shot. By that time I had left the building -- really. I know, I'm the ONLY person who doesn't think he's a fantastic ballplayer. 
      As soon as I saw him dribbling, I was gone. Out the door, heading for my car. 
      Avery Jukes would have put the ball in the basket. Avery Jukes could have won the game. Avery Jukes would have found a way. But, no, they gave the ball to Opie.