Friday, June 30, 2006

Big Sur....California

Big Sur....California
Originally uploaded by kelsana.
I daydream about this place.
Me On The Continental Divide

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Along the Continental Divide

From the last month's Colorado trip: Rod on Cottonwood Pass.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Yello! Confession

I devour sugar-free jello even though I know the shit is filled with bad chemicals and is probably destroying my cells as I write this.

A Woman We Should All Bow Down To (And Her Offspring)

Our friend J. gave birth to little L. and not 8 days later--well, maybe it wasn't exactly 8 days. But less than 2 weeks!--came to that Long Island Wedding I wrote about. I mean, she looked a little tired. But shit. (I know, in olden times women just dropped 'em and kept on hunting and gathering, but these days birth is treated more like an illness than a natural process...)

J. and her husband, M. are ecstatic. How could they not? Check out those eyes....

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Further Evidence That I’m A Superhero

My special power? I can conjure people. Not immediately and not every time, but within 24 hours of thinking about someone, Pouf! There they are! Usually!

Example #1: A few weeks ago Rod and I were strolling around Brooklyn. (Yes, we do that now that we’re in NY. We stroll. In the evening.) And I mentioned how we hadn’t heard from his mother in a while and that I was worried. She’s been going through a hard time lately and I thought it’d be a good idea to check in on her. Rod agreed and, as we crossed the street, she called. Weird.

Example #2: There are these two girls who used to come to the 7 am yoga class. Then they stopped coming—for several weeks. Last Tuesday, Gayle and I were talking about them and about how they don’t come to class anymore. She went in to the studio and started class and NOT FIVE MINUTES later, there they were.

Example #2: Yesterday I purchased a copy of the Baghavad Gita and started reading it while I was on the elliptical machine at the gym. I thought about Nehal, a friend from college and decided I really should call her to talk about the book because we’d had a great conversation when I read the Ramayana a few years ago. Plus, well, we hadn’t spoken in about four months and I really owed her a call. When I returned to my locker to get my stuff there was a voicemail. From Nehal!

See? I’m not making any of this up. Just call me SuperJessie and let’s be done with it. I even have a costume planned out: gypsy skirt and a halter top with little mirrors all over it. Everything in red. I’ll get a tiara, too. And a big silver arm band with little snakes winding around my arm…. My eyes all decked out with black kohl and my hair down.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Shame Asana

I farted in yoga tonight. Yeah. That’s right. As I was transitioning from a seated twist to some funky hips on your upper arms flying bird pose, ppppssssstttt. Unexpected. Unstoppable. Against the mat, so it echoed and everybody in my row turned to look. Everybody.

But I was cool. I was cool. I just smiled and shrugged—heyyyy, you know that’s how it goes, right? And tried to do said flying bird pose with as much inner calm—as much equanimity—as I could muster.
Mind Fluctuations After A Long Island Wedding

On Saturday Rod and I went to D. & D.s wedding in the small Long Island town where Rod grew up. Most of Rod’s old high school and college friends were there. Kind of like a reunion and wedding all rolled into one.

The wedding itself was pretty amazing. I’ve never seen more food at any catered event—wedding; banquet; bat or bar mitzvah. Caviar and sushi stations. A chocolate fondue fountain and espresso. I had three deserts. Well, plus a cookie. AND they had bagels and muffins for you to take home with you for the next morning.

Afterwards, Rod, T., D. and his fiancée K., M. and V. and I went over to this place where the boys would hang out to smoke pot and drink beer. Harvard Dr., just a little isolated bit of roadway between housing developments and five or six cars would just pull over and they’d all get fucked up the way teens do. We toasted days past and went on our way into the hot foggy 3 am darkness.

It was funny, though: as I drove away, I thought how much this road reminded me of roads I’d traveled along in my own suburban town. How all the tiny roads in eastern suburban towns in summer will always remind me of the tip of Ralston, sitting on a rock in the darkness smoking pot and cigarettes and drinking saccharine home-made lemonade spiked with pilfered vodka with R., both of us staring up at the streetlight and the insects dive-bombing their way through the beams. And that heavy late summer ache—will I always be alone, untouched and angry? Will my body always vibrate so painfully with longing? And always the cicadas and katydids and frogs thrumming the air. (The soundtrack of my adolescence, this insect chorus…)

I’ve been writing about this for years, you know. This little scene shows up in just about every story I’ve written. My first (unpublished) novel is saturated with the teeming insects and their calls. It seemed so essential, like there was some nugget in that moment and if I could press it just right, my life would crack open like some silver-coated clam.

But on Saturday night I realized: it was just the summer I turned 18. It was just the summer I spent high and drunk with a girl I’d fallen more than a little in love with. It was the summer before I went off to college, the last summer in the confined circle of my childhood. And that was it….

Friday, June 23, 2006

A whole lotta cheek-biting

Today's theme is dealing with difficult people. More on that later. But I've decided I'm writing an article this December called "A Year Of Yoga", all about the inner workings of NYC yoga studios and the people who staff and own them.
Does A Kid Ever Deserve It?

So there's this blog I read. A woman writer in Brooklyn. Well, plus she's a mother. And a month ago she moved to the suburbs somewhere an hour outside NYC. But I like her and she can be clever, so I drop by from time to time. But apparently there was an incident with her babysitter this week. Her kid hit the babysitter with an action figure and the babysitter responded by shoving the kid so hard he fell and scraped his knee. She fired the babysitter and posted a long commentary aboout how horrible it is and how bad she feels. Yada-yada-yada.

Now, I think this is horrible. The babysitter shouldn't have hit the kid but used the oppportunity to teach a lesson about Hitting. BUT. And, yes, but: nowhere in this mommy's post does she address her kid's inappropriate behavior. (And none of the 179 comments address it either.) She doesn't even talk to him about how it is not right to hit people. Ever. Even if you're not getting what you want. In the real world, when a man hits someone nine times out of ten he gets hit back. Unless, of course, that other person is a woman.

Something about this just pisses me off. Especially given the numerous kids and their nannies I see strolling Brooklyn Heights and environs. Always a white kid with a black nanny. Always the kid acting like the God his parents are teaching him to be. Maybe my attitude will change when I have one of my own, but some part of me thinks the mommy blogger should have been just a little concerned that her darling boy thought it okay to just haul off and hit the woman his parents had hired to care for him.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Worth Repeating

I know I've posted about this before, but I can't resist. Yoga Beans is the website of a CA-based mother of 3 and ashtanga yogini. Once she had her kids she had to give up her daily practice and now compensates by using her sons' plastic action figures to demonatrate traditional yoga poses. Funny, right? Plus the posts are really long with multiple staged photos. She spends hours doing this. So: has the yoga warped her or the kids. Or both....

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Summer Solstice

So as I'm sure y'all already know, today is the longest day of the year. Yipee. Which means sun and more sun for days to come.

Tonight's vinyasa class was wonderful. We did this great dancing shiva sequence with straps.

The sad part is I missed what looks like a cool sun celebration in Times Square. Apparently there was an hour-long yoga class this morning at 7 am right there in the neon-lit commercial heart of the world as part of an event called Mind Over Madness Yoga. Of course, chances are even if I'd known I wouldn't have schlepped all the way to midtown at the crack. But you never know.
Yet Another Reason Why Beagles Rule

This comes, once again, from Eagle-eye Markie.

"A 17-pound beagle named Belle is more than man's best friend. She's a lifesaver. Belle was in Washington, D.C., on Monday to receive an award for biting onto owner Kevin Weaver's cell phone to call 911 after the diabetic Ocoee man had a seizure and collapsed."

If it were any other breed I wouldn't believe it. But. My own beagle, Zoe, once tracked me seven Philadelphia blocks along a route we had never travelled before to my then-boyfriend's frat house. How do I know which route she took? A friend spied a fat beagle racing along Walnut St., adorned with Zoe's distinctive collar.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

I Love New York

Large black man on cell: So, I figured out what happened. Ebony was at the drug house with the first lesbian, but then that other lesbian that she stole two dollars from came. So that's where you came in. And....hey? Are you there? Mom? Mom?

--Penn Station

via Overheard in New York, Jun 20, 2006
Buddha Does The Sex Pistols

So I just finished reading this incredibly book by a guy named Noah Levine. Dharma Punx chronicles his life from Santa Cruz pre-teen skate-boarder to crack addict to SF-based meditation and dharma teacher.

Fucking awesome. Of course, since I was a young DC-punk wannabe back in the day, a lot of what he said resonated with me. I was way into Minor Threat and the whole straight-edge movement back in the late 80s and only found my way to pot and alcohol and more when I went to college. (You'd think a school as high profile as Penn would have frowned on binge drinking and the like, but that's where I learned fun tricks like: wake and bake; 4:20; jello shots and keg parties. I bought my first bong and my first pipe. Yum.)

The whole time I was reading the book the lyrics to that old Minor Threat straight edge anthem kept running through my mind: "I don't drink/I don't smoke/I don't fuck/At least I can fucking think/I can't keep up I can't keep up I can't keep up/Out of touch with the world..." And more of the same... Funny how now, 15 years after I lost touch with my straight edge roots, those same lyrics--well, except for the fucking, although now that we're married we call it making looooove...)--still seem to fit me more than ever.

It has now been six months and 20 days since I've had a drop of alcohol. And I do feel like I'm going against the current in many ways. (Over the last six months I've heard: Why aren't you drinking? Will you ever drink again? Are you pregnant?Are sure you're not pregnant?) Worse, I suspect some of our friends avoid me because I'm not really that fun anymore--fun meaning getting fucked out of your mind--or because I make them feel bad about their own habits.

Now, I'm not saying I'm never going to drink again. I plan on having a glass (or two) of champagne on our anniversary (July 24th) but I want to do it mindfully. Because I consciously decide to and not because everyone else around me is doing it or because, well, drinking is just some way to fill the time. I've spent too much of my life blinded by fear, falling into habits out of default or anxiety or some childish need to fit in with everyone around me. Or maybe even fear. Fear that I might fall into the same addictions that plague so many people in my family.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Janus Only Emerges At Night

Yeah, I know cats are nocturnal. But the other three hang out with us for at least part of the day. Janus, though, hides all day long and only comes out after six pm. At which time his favorite thing to do is sit on the sofa next to Rod and stare--at Rod; at the wall behind Rod; at the ceiling. Every once in a while he meows. Or comes to sit on the table next to the very computer on which I'm writing this entry and stare at me; at the wall behind me; at the ceiling. And even rarer: Jasmine and he engage in a turf war over the far eastern section of the sofa. Tiny furry samurai warriors on their hind feet sparring into the night.

Cats are annoying. But still. Not as annoying nor as shamefully needy as dogs. Cats love you, need you, but really, they seem to say--I won't beg. You'll have to come to me, dahling. Or I'll just casually stalk the fly that just flew in.

Sunday, June 18, 2006


So I went to this yoga class in Park Slope last night. Beautiful space—skylight in the center of the studio and these draping plants everywhere. Like being in the center of this giant bowl of life. It was hot so I sweated a lot… Although mysteriously none of the others in the room were sweating as much as me. Still, it was this wonderfully choreographed vinyasa class. Handstand, headstand and this really cool thing where you go from a traditional backbend and then walk your hands up the wall to standing.

But afterwards I felt. I don’t know. Angry. This has never happened to me before, but still, this morning these weird feelings of unease and resentment keep percolating up in me. And I know this is nuts, but I feel like that intense class just dislodged all these bad feelings I've been having lately--about myself, my fucking shit writing career and what the fuck I'm doing with my life--I'm 33 for chrissake!--and now everything's just coursing through my overheated blood.


So today's father's day and Rod, his sister Lara, Dad, stepmom Lori, their dog Shecky, and I are going to central park for a picnic. Rod made chicken salad last night.

Saturday, June 17, 2006


If you know anyone effected by prostate cancer--a survivor; caregiver; family member--please let them know aobut this conference.

Friday, June 16, 2006

Just an ego thing...

So I did my training at Yoga Lab today. I was nervous. Because I'm a freak and anytime I ever do anything new I get nervous. But I was so jittery I miscounted the change three fucking times. She must think I'm an idiot. Now I'm feeling paranoid and weird and what the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I just be a normal person? Sigh. On another note, we're going out to Bar Tabac tonight! Yummy yummy yum-yum.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Yoga Lab

So tomorrow morning I start training for a workstudy shift at a new yoga studio near me called Yoga Lab. This place is beautiful and I'm really really excited. I mean for chrissake they have a waterfall. And it only takes distilled water. And they have rooftop yoga! I mean. My god. Plus the woman who owns the studio seems really cool. But, no, I'm not giving up on Yoga People. I still love Gayle's wednesday night Forrest yoga class and Danika's friday night vinyasa. And Keith's monday night vinyasa, actually. (He's really into kundalini and does this snake gesture thing in the sun salutation series that seems a little weird at first but then feels kind of cool. I feel like a gypsy snake-charmer chick!) So I'm going to double dip. Which means I'll be earning four--yep, that's right, four!--free classes per week. What does this mean for my real job? (What job? Joke. A joke.) Well, I finish at Yoga people by 8:15 am on Tuesday and Thursdays. And the Yoga Lab shift is only from 1-6 pm on Fridays. So I can swing it. One of the plusses of freelancing and telecommuting is that you quickly learn that schedules are really just a superficial contruct. As long as the work gets done it really doesn't matter if it's at 11 at night or 11 in the morning.
One Man's Quest...

So this tip comes from my friend, Mark, our SF guy with an eagle eye. Apparently the compound xanthohumol, found in hops, may help fight prostate cancer. But don't go rushing off to trade your six-pack abs (Uh, yeah. A joke. I don't know anyone with a six-pack. Except for Mark who's got abs of steel) for a six-pack of Brooklyn lager. There's a catch. You'd have to drink 17 beers to get enough xanthohumol. Sigh.
Anyone who says

Sometime back in late March, maybe even early April, as I was on my way from my apartment building to the Cobble Hill gym, I saw some seedy-looking guy scattering poppy seeds across the glass-strewn soil of an abandoned lot. I don’t mean garden-store variety poppy seeds but the kind used for cooking. I stopped, stupefied and peered at him through the chain-link fence. “I don’t think that’s gonna work,” I said. I knew: I’d tried it one year back in Charlottesville. “Those things are treated or something.” He shrugged and kept scattering. “Don’t have anything to lose, do I?” Which was true enough. I smiled and went on my way. (Now here’s another anomaly—I’ve become friendlier since I left the South and moved to the Big City. See. Just like me, huh. Going against the current.) Weeks passed. I normally don’t go to that gym now, since the Brooklyn Heights location is closer to the yoga studio I’ve been going to. But today. Well, Rod’s in the city seeing his friend Todd and the day was just so pretty and I felt like wandering. So I headed on over to the Cobble Hill gym, passing my second favorite fruit stand, right next to the lot where I stopped dead in my tracks. Poppies! Hundreds of them! Red and pink and white and pink/white stripes and white with tinges of red, bright little heads popping up over the choked weeds. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, so unexpected. If I had a digital camera, which I don’t cause I’m too poor, I’d post it. But god. You’re just going to have to believe me. And anyone who says Brooklyn isn’t beautiful is fucking blind.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Bad To Be Wrinkly

Middle-aged smokers with heavily lined faces have a five times higher risk of lung disease than their un-wrinkled peers, a
study has suggested.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Nifty New Feature On This Here Blog

Check out the right hand side of the screen. Enter your email address to sign up and you'll get an email when I post. This way you'll never ever miss out again. Pretty cool, no?
In Which Google Takes Over The World , Part IV

Yeah. Not just a verb, folks. You can google earth now. Enter an address and a satellite image zooms in from outerspace to your very fucking block. I shit you not. Of course I googled every address I know. (Hey! That's my block! That's Henry St. And the hospital and yes! Clinton!) So satisfying.
80% of Divorces Start This Way

Man: Do you want fries?
Woman: No, I'll eat yours.

--Times Square

via Overheard in New York, Jun 11, 2006
Morning Song

So I'm not a morning person. I mean reallly not a morning person. But for the last six months I've been getting up twice a week at 5:30 to open the yoga studio near my apartment. I get a free yoga class for each shift I work. I still hate getting up but I've come to love that morning hush; the quiet city streets; the lighting of the first incense stick. Feels a little like praying.

Monday, June 12, 2006

People Who Need Yoga

So there's this one person at the yoga studio where I work two days a week whose personality I find--how shall I say? Difficult. I mean difficult. Your typical abrasive Brooklynite. And not only does she run this yoga studio but she's really into it and has been for years. There's a picture of her on the studio wall in a group with S. Gannon& D. Life of Jivamukti, and Pattabhi Jois. I mean big deal. And yet I've never met a woman who needed yoga more. Odd.

Sunday, June 11, 2006

Finding Some Way Of Letting Go

So I have this certain relative, X, who developed a severe drinking problem a few years ago. (Which is why I no longer touch the stuff. Once I saw exactly what kind of damage alcohol could do to someone's soul—and I use the word soul not body deliberately--the idea of a glass of wine made my skin crawl.) When confronted about the alcohol abuse and the damage it was doing to everyone around her, X tried to commit suicide. Thank god unsuccessfully. But that attempt left noticeable and lasting damage. Three and a half years later she’s still not the same. Still, I get lulled into thinking she’s better and there’s nothing wrong with her. And every time I do, there’s this snakebite vein of meanness that boils up in her. I react badly. She apologizes and sort of crumbles into this sad person I never even knew she had inside her until the intervention. I feel guilty--such a bad relative! She has a sickness. Things settle. Then a couple months later we begin anew. A weird cycle that I have no clue how to break out of.

I realized today during this anusara yoga class I take at Yoga People that that cycle likely would continue as long as X lives. And since I don’t want to cut X out of my life—I love her, you see—I have to learn to step aside emotionally whenever I feel the ground trembling with the approach of her inner demons. I don’t know how I’m going to manage to do that, but if I don’t figure out some way I doubt my relationship with her will survive.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Off To Central Park

First, the park. The the dinner. We're going to meet Rod's cousin Deb tonight for dinner.

Wait For The Video

Rod and I went to see X-Men: The Final Stand last night. Just about the only cool thing about the entire movie was watching Mystique morph. (And even I can admit the girl's hot.) Other than that--well, I yawned several times. Even the fights weren't exciting. And here I had such great hopes. The Phoenix saga is some of the best comic book shit Rod ever introduced me to. And anyone who has rage issues--me!--would identify with Jean and her inner Kali. Although Rod tells me when I get mad its more like a combination of The Hulk (Jessie Smash!) and Darth Jessie. They just didn't do this shit justice...

Friday, June 09, 2006

God's A Stoner Or How The Platypus Came To Be

"Doooood. Just take a possum and slap an extra duck's bill on the nose. Some webbed feet and we are done.... Pass the chips."

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Dooce cracks me up.
American Men Have Small Penises

Judging from the amount of spam I get, American men as a whole have remarkably small penises. And the impotence! An even bigger problem. (As Rod says, pun intended but regretted.)
Batwoman hero returns as lesbian

New Batwoman character design
Batwoman's new look has been designed by artist Alex Ross
Comic book heroine Batwoman is to make a comeback as a "lipstick lesbian" who moonlights as a crime fighter, a DC Comics spokesman has confirmed.

Phew, I don't have to make this shit up.
Now that they've got YouTube...

... they don't need to sniff spraypaint.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Fuck Me.

I lose all my links when I converted to this template. Grrr.
Nah, you're not hallucinating

I'm fucking around with blog design templates on blogger.

Let me know what y'all think.

Today I Miss Zoe

Rod hated her, but I loved that silly old dog.

The Fifth Sentence

So here's a meme for all you meme-lovers.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the "coolest" book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.

So here I go. The only books around are stacked into a giant bookcase in our living room. So I closed my eyes and grabbed the first one my little fingers touched.

Title: The American Short Story, edited by Thomas K. Parkes.

The fifth sentence on page 123 is from a short story by Herman Melville entitled, "Benito Cereno."

"But the debility, constitutional or induced, by hardships bodily andf mentally, of the Spanish captain was too obvious to be overlooked."

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

And That's Why I Lurrrvvv Him

When we first moved to Brooklyn I told Rod that the first Dutch settlers named the new terrority across the east river from Manhattan Broken Land because of the numerous inlets and bays. In time it got shortened to Brooklyn and hence the current borough's moniker. Honestly, I never thought he'd take me seriously--I mean, the Dutch didn't speak English...

Still, it took him a couple months--and one night of drunkenly telling a stick-up-her-ass Manhattanite the story--before he figured out I was fucking with him.

Hee hee hee.

I am a fireman's carry!
Find your own pose!

I'm Afraid To Reproduce

If Amalah can lose her cool I have no idea what kind of parent I'll be. I'm high-strung without the hormones. Sigh.
Back In Badass Brooklyn.

Zelda's fatter and my dill plant died. But other than that nothing has changed. Janus is the only one who acted like he missed us at all and he smells mysteriously like puke. Cats.

I'm scrambling to get some marketing materials for this golf tournament we're doing in conjunction with American Cancer Society at the end of the month at PeekN'Peak so I'm in high-stress mode.

Which wouldn't suprise anyone who's known me for more than one week.


Sunday, June 04, 2006

Just Plain Wrong

I'm appalled at how any people I see here at the Clinical Oncology conference standing outside the entrance smoking cigarettes. Which, in my mind, is a little like cramming twinkies into your mouth outside a weight watchers symposium... Or doing yaeger shots outside an AA meeting.

Shame on you, doctors!
Ten Minutes Ago @ The FCRE Booth @ ASCO

Me: Do I look like Sarah Jessica Parker?
Rod: [Cocking his head and looking nervously at my left shoulder] Do you want to look like Sarah Jessica Parker?
Me: Just answer the question.
Rod: I don't know.
Me: Give me a break.
Rod: Yes.
Me: Really?
Rod: You've got the blonde curly hair and the nose and the look.
Me: [Feeling pretty attractive--I'm hot in Atlanta and Colorado!] Wow...
Rod: You're definitely wife material. Not some hottie one night stand kind of girl.

Men! And actually I'm mysteriously flattered. Somebody explain that to me...
Half An Hour Ago @ the FCRE Booth @ ASCO

Business Dude: Are you famous?
Me: No... Well, maybe in my own mind.
Business Dude: No--who do people tell you you look like.
Me: [Shrug...] I don't know.
Business Dude: Look that way.
Me: [Looking to the right and thinking--is he hitting on me?]
Business Dude: [Snapping his fingers.] Sarah Jessica Parker. Anybody ever tell you that?
Me: [Suprised.] Actually, yes--some did tell me that once. [OK, it was my sister-in-law and I'd just had me hair done at some shmancy-fancy NYC salon, but hey... that counts.]

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Have We No Standards Anymore?

Hot chick: So, I just wanted to let you know I'm just coming out of a relationship.
Buff dude: Oh. Well, then I should tell you that I used to be a stripper in Chicago.
Hot chick: Hmm...I have herpes.
Buff dude: That's ok, I have two cats.

--Scruffy Duffy's, 8th Ave between 46th & 47th

via Overheard in New York, Jun 2, 2006
Saturday Funny Pix

OK, somebody forwarded me this picture about a year ago but I totally forgot about it until a minute ago. (OK, I'm sitting on the hotel bed bored as shit scrolling through all my old files...)

Dunno whose cat it is but it cracks me up.

Apparently I'm Hot In Colorado

In NYC no one gives me a second look, but in Colorado I swear all the tanned hot sporty guys were checking me out. And I checked back, despite the ring. Hmmm... (Don't worry, Rod doesn't usually read this blog... Expect when I told him our friend Mark did the Maturity quiz and was the same age as me--27. He's now claiming he's 32--his actual age. I don't believe him. All the comic books and Batman paraphenalia around our apartment tell a TOTALLY different story. Although, he hasn't been to see the new Xmen movie yet even though it came out last Saturday. Which shows an unusual level of restraint that I am yet to decipher.... What could it mean???
I have no desire to move to Atlanta

So I have this thing where I anytime I go to a new place I envision what my life would be like if I moved there. It annoys my husband to no end but still, all last week I lived inside this fantasy bubble: "What if we moved to the Rocky Mountains and lived out our lives raising a gaggle of kids, hiking high into the mountains each weekend." I've got ongoing fantasy lives in Berkeley, Mallorca, Paris, Prague and now Denver and Buena Vista, Co. Well, Rod would be happy to know that I have absolutely no desire to live in Atlanta. No offense to Atlantians, but something just doesn't appeal.

Friday, June 02, 2006

Where Have I Been?

Colorado... My cousin, Eric, got married in Denver last weekend. Then Rod and I went camping at Garden Of The Gods and in Buena Vista. Now we're in Atlanta for the American Society of Clinical Oncology conference. A lengthy post along with spiffy pix (I've got one of Rod standing on top of Cottonwood Pass, one foot on either side of the Continental Divide) after we get back to Brooklyn on Tuesday.